


Awestruck

by AmmyMcKay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Kevin Tran, Crowley Being Crowley, Crowley's Secret Past, Dean Acts Like a Dog, Dog Dean, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Hellhounds, Hunter Castiel, Plot Twists, Possessed Sam, Season/Series 09, Slow Build, Tags May Change, Worried Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmmyMcKay/pseuds/AmmyMcKay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is hunting, Dean acts like a dog, and Sam is possessed. Relationships are strained. Let's get the boys back together again before it's too late. They just also have to fix themselves, fix heaven, stop another angel civil war, find a way to kill Abaddon, and, of course, continue the family business. Also starring: Kevin, Gadreel, Crowley, Lively (OC).</p><p>Season 9 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Instinctive Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the case that Dean and Sam are on, it is the one in the Episode 9.08, Rock and a Hard Place. There are slight differences (the differences get more pronounced in later chapters), but most of the episode is intact and many scenes have their dialogue ad verbatim where it is important to do so for the sake of the story.

***

_ Rexford, Idaho _

Cas woke up, but remained prone. Thinking was easier than facing the world because right now, his life sucked. For one, he wasn't in a room and he didn't have a bed. He had locked himself in the Gas-n-Sip last night because he had no place to go. He curled up in a sleeping bag in the supply because that was the best he could do right now. He wondered when he had hit rock bottom or if, instead, he was falling into a bottomless pit.

The rejection from Nora last week, or rather, finding out that she wasn't interested in him past babysitting duty took a lot more out of him than he had expected. Then there was Dean's odd behavior when he was here. He seemed distracted at times, but nothing too worrying. It was only that, once again, he was reminded of the fact that he was exiled from Bunker for reasons he really couldn't understand. Finally, he decided it was time to get up. Go through the motions.

He groaned as he sat up. Sleeping in a sleeping bag in the supply closet made his back sore. Pain. He groaned and stretched, feeling some relief in the aching muscles. It was moments like this that he missed being an honest to goodness angel. Without his grace, he was simply a man.

He uncurled and started to roll up the sleeping bag and moved it into the spot behind the toilet paper on the storage shelves. "Dude, Steve, did you sleep in here?" It was Trey. Skinny-as-a-rail, tall, young, dark-skinned Trey. He was working through college.

"Uh," Cas adjusted his vest, hoping it didn't look like he hadn't washed it in the weeks he had worked here. "No." He was a terrible liar and that single word sounded so unconvincing in his gruff voice. His blue eyes attempted to look anywhere but the supervisor.

"Steve, did your roommate kick you out or something?"

"No." Then he realized that he  _ had._ After all, Dean had kicked him out of the Bunker.

Trey raised an eyebrow, trying to coax the truth.

"Actually, yes." Cas admitted.

"You can't do that Steve."

He looked up at Trey, "It was one… night." The delivery of that sentence could not have been more awkward or unconvincing.

"Dude, you are  _ really _ bad at lying." Trey said with a laugh. He straightened his expression and resumed with a serious tone, "But you really can't stay here, Steve."

Castiel allowed his mind to linger on that sentence.  _ You can't stay here _ . Dean wanted him to sit out the impending war with the angels simply because he was now a man. Perhaps it  _ was _ time to leave. After he did his duty as sales associate, of course.

He started working on cleaning the counters and opening the registers. After he did that, he gathered up his things.

The former angel walked to the office and rapped on the door. Trey poked his head out. "What?"

Cas said, "You're right. I… have to go."

"Wait, what?" Trey hurried out of the office so he stood in front of the former-angel.

Castiel took off his vest and handed it to his stunned former supervisor. "Tell Nora she was adequately kind to me and that I enjoyed life as a sales associate for the short time that I was one. It was… good practice."

"Steve?"

Cas headed out the door and waved his farewell.

"Steve! Get back here!"

Castiel refused to look back at the life he was leaving behind. It had been a nice break: to hide in plain sight, to have people mistake him for being human. He could go back to that, try to play at that. But somehow, after Dean's visit, after being face to face with another angel and realizing the gravity of the situation, it wasn't satisfying or even ethical to stay here. Not when he was responsible. Trey's words this morning simply provided that final push. 

\---

_ I miss my wings _ . Angels didn't have their wings anymore. What they had were tattered, broken things. Castiel didn't even have that. Instinctively, he flexed his shoulders and couldn't feel anything there. Cas didn't suppose that there was any way to get them back. No angel was able to teleport any more. Now, they all relied on traditional methods of transportation. For example, Castiel was on the side of a long, deserted highway sticking his thumb out and hoping for a ride. Fitting.

He wore his maroon hoodie. He had packed his things in a backpack: Toothbrush, toothpaste, bread, and water. His sleeping bag was tied to the backpack securely. He had the FBI badge that Dean had made him in his back pocket as well as the money he had earned. He still wore the shirt he had worn under the vest when he worked at the Gas-and-Sip in Rexford, Idaho. And it looked a bit grubby and was wet under the armpits. He wasn't sure where he was headed, but he was now in Kansas and was definitely due for a shower. Eventually. The Bunker was achingly close, but he knew he was not welcome there. Dean wanted him away.

Cas found a sort of freedom out on the road. It reminded him of the Winchesters. Their lives were largely on the road. Hunting. He didn't think he could be a hunter, but what he could be was on the trail of the angels and figure out if there was a way to rejoin them or at least get his powers back. 

Then perhaps Dean would take him back because he'd be able to help them again.

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

In the bunker, Dean's phone started ringing. Sam was reading a book, researching a way to hopefully help his brother. He glanced up at Dean who was licking out a pudding cup. There was a blissful expression on his face as he lapped at the pudding for minutes. Sam looked concerned. And the mouth sounds in the otherwise quiet library were hard to listen to. "Dean."

No answer. Ever since he took that mind-meld potion, Dean's mind sometimes went elsewhere. And there would be glimpses of him being very animalistic. It was in the urges that he couldn't control unless he had his mind sharp and ready. Once it wandered, he was doing something decidedly less than human. For example, one of the things that had come from effects of the potion was an oral fixation.

"Dean." Sam said as he reached forward to hopefully take the pudding cup away from his brother. To his surprise and dismay, Dean's nose crinkled slightly in a possessive growl and there was a lack of humanity in his green eyes. Though, quickly he refocused and looked embarrassed for behaving in such a way.

The phone continued ringing.

Sam reached for the phone and answered it.

He heard a familiar voice on the other end. It was Jody. "Dean, took you long enough!"

"It's Sam."

"Oh."

Dean sat up, interested. Sam put Jody on speakerphone.

"So, I got a bit of an odd one for you."

The brothers glanced at each other, not entirely sure if they could handle a case right now, but the best way to move forward and pretend that nothing was wrong was to continue working on the family business. 

"Shoot," Dean said.

"A small town I cover outside of Sioux Falls--only crime to speak of being the occasional cow tipping. Then last week...four people go missing."

"Alright, so what makes you think it's our kind of weird?"

They could hear a bit of bluster in Jody's voice. "I've got a witness who says he saw someone lift an SUV to nab a girl last night." 

The boys looked to each other and had a silent, one second exchange with nothing but their expressions:

Dean's eyes lit up, eyebrows raised expectantly.  _ C'mon Sammy. _

Sam shook his head.  _ No.  _ He was tired. Dean was still affected by a potion that messed with his mind. This was a bad idea.

Dean smiled and then leaned towards the phone. "We'll do it Jody." That earned him bitchface.

***

_ Ardent, Virginia _

Castiel hopped out of the pick-up truck at a middle-of-nowhere intersection in the Virginian woods and waved the driver goodbye. He wore a plain, black T-shirt and some cheap jeans. His sleeping bag had been traded away some clothes at a thrift store. His hoodie was unzipped. It was warm and humid today. Sweat glistened on his forehead, but he had showered two days ago in a cheap motel room. Not that anybody could tell with the layer of grime the dusty roads had left on his skin.

His feet had blisters and he limped as he walked down the road. The sun set and the sky darkened. It had been a couple of weeks since he quit his job at the Gas-and-Sip all the way in Idaho. The former angel looked haggard and thin. He had the barest essentials in his backpack: His money. Salt. A change of clothes. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. In the waning twilight, he pulled out his map to consult it.  _ About five miles, that way.  _ He looked down the road where it forked off deeper into the forest.

The fog hung thickly around the trees as he followed the winding country road. He heard a strange noise coming from his pocket, the horrible screech of a phone's speaker malfunctioning. He stopped and crumpled the map into his armpit as he took his phone out. He glanced down at his cellphone, a burner. It was going a little haywire. The screen was flickering in and out. It warbled and screeched. Noises that he had never heard a phone make before. And finally, silence. He stared at the cellphone for a few seconds.

Then, it started ringing so suddenly that it startled him. His breathing became uneven as his exhales came out as shuddering breaths. The phone was malfunctioning so much that he couldn't read the number, there was just a random bunch of letters and numbers flashing on the screen amid green and blue glitches. He touched the green button to answer and put the phone to his ear.

A tender voice, thready and weak, whispered, "Are you lost?" It was hard to hear, distorted so much that Cas had to focus to decipher the words.

"Yes," Castiel answered, honestly.

"The lost--" The electromagnetic interference caused the words to scratch and warp.

"Who are you?"

Nothing but static.

While he waited for the disembodied voice on the phone to speak again, the former angel was trying to look around and figure out where it was coming from. "My name is Castiel," he offered.

He took his phone away from his ear and saw that it was off. He tried turning it on, but that wouldn't work. He looked up at the canopy overhead, the thick green of trees, looking for any evidence of what could have caused the interference.

He  _ could _ move on. But he considered what the Winchesters would do in this situation. They'd follow the clues and see where it led. And, though Cas just wanted to focus on the threat of an angel war, he knew that, in the end, he  _ couldn't _ simply leave the mystery of the monster in this forest. If he had, what he would have left behind here would gnaw at him. Perhaps, it was because he had spent too long with the Winchesters: A bit of being a hunter rubbed off on him.

***

Dean was driving the Impala. Sam sat in the passenger's seat, a bit disturbed by the possibility that, at any moment, Dean may revert and Sam wasn't exactly sure he trusted the driving of a man whose mind could sometimes be mostly animal. Meanwhile, Dean was fretting over what was going on with Sam. He was broken and the only thing holding him together was an angel hijacking his body. 

"Sammy," Dean said suddenly, feeling honest and also feeling like sticking his head out of the window on the freeway. "I'm sorry." As soon as it came out, the hunter flinched. He hadn't meant to say that.

Instead of Sam answering, his eyes flickered blue and his expression changed. His words came out stilted. This wasn't Sam. This was Ezekiel. "Sam isn't healed completely yet. We can't afford to be honest right now. He'll reject me and I'm the only thing keeping him alive."

Dean made the keening noise of a dog's whine. The sound started in his throat and whistled out of his nose. "I didn't mean to say it."

"It seems your mind is not completely human any longer, Dean," Ezekiel observed.

"I know I'm still suffering the after-effects of that potion, but it doesn't happen as often. I'm  _ fine.  _ I'm human."

Ezekiel frowned. Truthfully, he had seen the effects ebb and flow. Normally, it was subtle, but sometimes, when they hit Dean, they hit hard 

"How long until Sammy's better, Zeke?" Dean asked, quietly. Realizing that, here, Ezekiel had all of the leverage. He was stupid for making a deal that he didn't fully understand, but he also felt he didn't really have any other options.

"Not too long. This is better as a secret. He'll reject me."

And with that, Ezekiel let Sam have control again. "Sorry about what Dean?" he asked, continuing the conversation from before the angel took over it.

He fumbled with what he was supposed to say before he offered up, "Last hunt. With Sonny. I shouldn't have kept all of that from you."

Sam smiled and looked at the road. "Don't sweat it. Any other big secrets?"

Dean set his jaw and focused on driving. He wanted to tell Sam everything, but telling him would mean losing him.

***

Castiel walked until he found his way to the motel. He limped to the reception desk and bought a room. He signed himself in as Steve Novak. He was at a loss for what to use for his name, but knew he couldn't stand here, trying to think of a name when all he wanted was to find a place to sit down. It wasn't Jimmy Novak. And it wasn't Castiel. 

He went into his motel room. It was dinky. The wallpaper was peeling and he sat on the bed on the starchy sheets. He kicked off his worn shoes and socks before he tenderly touched his feet on the spots which were warm and sore. He looked at the blisters and wished that he still had his powers because then this wouldn't be an issue. His grace had been stolen from him, but he had nobody to blame but himself. He was stupid enough and naive enough to have been manipulated and tricked in the way that he had.

He shut his eyes and willed himself to be anywhere but here. He opened them and only saw the off-white of the motel ceiling. 

***

_ Hartford, South Dakota _

Dean pulled up into the parking lot of Casey's Great Plains Diner. He parked the Impala next to Sheriff Mills' truck. They all left their vehicles and Jody opened her arms in a hug and the boys realized that they missed the warmth of another human being. Things had been awkward and tense at the Bunker and the ride over. Jody just being there seemed to melt that all away.

Dean grinned and then quipped, "Sheriff. Laying off the blind dates, I hope." 

This immediately made Sheriff Mills recall her date with Crowley. She smiled and then chastised the younger man, "You bite your tongue, boy." 

Dean's smile didn't fade. He enjoyed these fun teasing jabs he'd take at the people he cared about. Sam and Kevin weren't into it. Both too stressed and tired to remain fun as he did so.

Sam wanted to move on with the case so that Dean wouldn't slip up and reveal that something was wrong with him. "Hey, so?"

They got back on track.

Jody pointed to where the SUV had been. "So, car was right here, ass over teakettle. Now, normally, if somebody would tell me that one guy lifted an SUV, I'd tell him to take a flying leap, but after what I've seen…"

Sam gave a knowing nod. "Nothing's impossible." 

"Uh-huh." Jody said.

Sam looked at Dean who, with Mills not looking, was scratching his head above his ear and leaning into it slightly. After making eye contact with Sam, he smiled sheepishly and felt he needed to add to this conversation to prove he had been listening. "This matches up with the other two how?"

Jody explained, "Well, four abductions, strong evidence left at every scene. Literally."

Sam checked his brother to make sure he was still focused. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed an almost imperceptible sigh. He was  _ fine _ . He wasn't stupid. It was just sometimes, if he wasn't focused, he'd drift. It wasn't like he was becoming an invalid or it had too much of an effect on his hunting. It was his job to worry about Sam. Not the other way around.

The pause in the conversation became too conspicuous. Jody noticed, but before she could comment on that, Sam continued, keeping them focused on the case. "So, first vic was a pastor?"

As much as Jody wanted to ask the boys what was going on between them, she couldn't when they were talking about victims and the case. Personal feelings seemed woefully unimportant in comparison to people's lives. "Yeah. Door of his study was punched in. And then, the next two--an engaged couple."

Dean chimed in, "Locked bedroom window was ripped open."

"Mm-hmm. And then we have our waitress here with the topsy-turvy ride," Jody added.

"Any other connection among them?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. They were all members of Good Faith church here." Jody paused and then added, with a touch of embarrassment to her words, "My, uh, my church group back in Sioux Falls was in a tizzy over it."

"Hmm." Dean said.

"What?"

The hunter grinned. "I didn't peg you for churchy."

"Yeah. You know... Choking on the ladies' room floor 'cause of witchcraft kind of makes a higher power seem relevant." The date with Crowley was in the front of her mind because of Dean's mention of it earlier, but honestly, it was something she'd never truly forget.

Dean's face softened in concern. "Jody, are you sure you're, uh, to jump back in the fray?" All Jody could think was that Dean was too good at this.

"This wackadoo stuff keeps coming. More I know, better armed I'll be."

Dean nodded. Sometimes, the best way to cope was just to keep moving on and do what you can. 

Again, Sam was trying to get things back on track. "Okay, so, we have, uh, missing church folk and super strength. Maybe angels harvesting vessels? Could be a Buddy Boyle type thing."

"Wh-- angels? You're joking."

"Don't get your pants on fire. They suck," Dean said, thinking especially of the angel in Sam.

"You said there was a witness," Sam said.

Jody smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. Well… more or less."


	2. Adaptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the chapter you meet the original character (sort of a given since Castiel is on his own hunt). Dean and Sam are still working the case from Episode 9.08, and so plenty of dialogue is quoted. There are some differences and will be more as the story progresses.

***

_Ardent, Virginia_

Castiel didn't have a ride and still relied on other people to move from place to place. And, he unfortunately didn't know anybody out here. It was frustrating and really limited his ability to hunt. Let alone figure out what the angels were up to and figure out a way to fix heaven. He stepped outside, a couple coins in hand, so that he could find something in the vending machine. Perhaps after he ate something, he'd feel good enough to work through what he could do in his situation.

When he got to the vending machine, he saw a woman wearing a long, green skirt. She was draped in necklaces of all lengths and several types of gemstones. She reminded Castiel of a Christmas tree. He saw that she was without a bra, just by seeing the shape of her breasts underneath her top, which was a simple dark-colored camisole. Her mousy brown hair looked wild and free as it cascaded down slim shoulders. She pounded against the machine before she sighed and pressed her forehead against the glass front of the machine, her Babe Ruth stuck.

She glanced at Cas. "What?" she asked, a bit of a bite in her words due to machine vexing her.

"I was going to get some crackers." His gravelly voice was deeper than she had expected.

"Don't. This machine's a piece of shit trying to cheat me out of my money. That's the _second time_ this week." She gave it one final kick in an effort to somehow best the vending machine.

"The machine is not sentient."

"What?" her tone of voice was more from the utter disbelief that Castiel had to point that out, but the former angel read it as her not knowing the definition.

"It does not have a mind or free will. It is unable to perceive or feel…"

The young woman glanced at Castiel with an incredulous look to her gray eyes. "No, really? I wouldn't have guessed."

"It's a good thing I came over then to explain," the former angel said with a straight face. He thought of the first time he had to use a phone to contact Dean. He continued, "Like you, electronics, machines used to perplex me."

"Hon, I was being sarcastic." She tilted her head and studied him. "You aren't from around here?"

"No."

"Me either." She smiled and stuck her hand out. "Well, then, I'm lively."

He took it and then said, confusion in his voice, "I am also alive."

The young woman laughed and then said. "My name's Lively. Well, my nickname anyways, but I'm fond of it." Her expression was bright as she spoke.

"Oh, my name is Cas--" He shut his eyes and sighed, feeling stupid for slipping up already. He blamed the strange conversation they had for disorienting him. "I mean Steve."

"Huh," she said flippantly. "You're weird." Lively slapped the vending machine one more time. Her candy did not budge so she pouted.

"It's stuck," he observed.

"Well, no shit."

"So it doesn't work?" 

"Out of order," Lively confirmed. "So, do you have money?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna order a pizza?"

***

_Hartford, South Dakota_

All that the Winchesters knew from interviewing Slim, the homeless man who had seen one of the victims disappear, was that there was a blue flame. Now, they were focused on following the other lead: That all of the victims so far had gone to the same church: Good Faith Church.

Dean and Sam sat across the desk of Bonnie Futchko. She folded her hands on top of the desk, all smiles. She was modestly dressed. Her red hair was down and the headband she wore gave her a chaste, and rather naive appearance. "We hope you enjoyed the tour. Any questions before we get you boys registered?"

Dean sniffed the air and then his face screwed up in a suppressed grimace, which earned a jab at the ribs from Sam. He wiped at his nose and glared at Sam. _My nose was itchy._

Miss Futchko watched the two of them carefully, waiting for either a question or a confirmation that they didn't have questions.

Sam awkwardly began: "Uh, yeah, uh, look, um, Ms. Futchko--"

"Oh, please... Bonnie will do just fine." She remained chipper.

"Bonnie. Okay, um, we...love the church. We do. But...Well, we've heard that a few members have gone missing, and, to be honest...that kind of scares us."

"Let me assure you, with our increased security, Good Faith has never been safer. And those people who have gone missing, well, they are front and center in our prayers." She said, putting too much enthusiasm in her words.

Dean jumped in, to prove to Sam that he was fine, "What a relief. Now, you must have been, uh, close to them." Sam, of course, watched his brother.

"Well, we do share the A.P.U. bond."

"The A.P.U. bond?" Dean's eyebrows lifted, curious that this could be a new direction.

Bonnie nodded and continued. "Our chastity group... _Abstinence Purifies Us._ "

The Winchesters exchanged a glance. _Virgins._ Dean gave a lewd grin. Sam, of course, remained on task. "Oh. W-wow. You mind if we sit in on that, maybe see if it's for us?"

Bonnie smiled apologetically, "I'm afraid it's members only. I'm sorry, but it can get pretty personal."

"Then count us in."

The cheerful woman clapped her hands together in eagerness. "Well. I'll be a squirrel in a skirt. I'll be back in a jiff with the papers."

The brothers quietly discussed the possibility that they were hunting a dragon due to the flames and the fact that it seemed that an important component to this hunt was that the victims were virgins.

In a short time, Bonnie came back with some forms that she retrieved from a filing cabinet. She handed each brother a clipboard. "All righty. Just sign here and your purification can begin."

Sam read the form. "Purity pledge?"

"It's a commitment to your virginity," Bonnie added helpfully.

Dean laughed and then said, "I don't think we can really un-ring that bell. You know what I mean?"

The woman seemed a bit taken aback, but continued, "Oh. I see. Well... If you just ask for God's forgiveness for your sins and make a new vow of chastity, well, then, you'll be born again as a virgin in his eyes."

"So, you just hit the 'virginity do-over' button, and all is good with the man upstairs?" Dean asked. Mostly because it seemed a bit ridiculous.

Bonnie gasped. "It's not a button! And...this isn't just a piece of paper. I mean, this is your clean slate, your chance to be a virgin until marriage."

Dean smiled and said, "Well, you had me at 'clean slate.' Let's do this."

Both Sam and Dean signed their names on the forms and then handed them back to Bonnie.

"Congratulations. You are now virgins."

Dean smiled at Sam. He wondered how long that would last.

\---

The boys left the church and sat in the Impala. Dean glanced at Sam. "You kept looking at me in the room there, Sammy."

"I'm just trying to be careful."

He started the car. "Sammy, I'm fine. I'm good. You should be worried about yourself."

"Why do you say that?"

"You look tired. From the trials and all," Dean replied, but he refused to look Sam in the eyes. He tried to make it seem like it was because he was too busy keeping his attention on the road ahead. "The potion's probably wore off by now."

Sam drew his mouth into a line. "Sure Dean, that's what you've been saying for the past few weeks. And then you rolled in a mud puddle at Sonny's, remember that? Oh, and then you chewed my wallet. _My wallet,_ Dean."

"Oh, come on!"

"It was _bad."_ Sam would have given Dean bitchface if he wasn't so concerned for his brother's mental state. "Look, Dean, I'm worried."

"Don't be. I'm fine." Dean shrugged. He didn't want to admit that it took a lot for him to not grimace at the scent of Bonnie's too-heavy perfume and how it masked the subtle scent of smoke. There was a reason hunters didn't smoke, it'd make them too easy for monsters to track. Though, when he thought about it, the scent reminded him more of a fireplace than cigarettes.

***

Castiel opened the box of the freshly delivered pizza that he had purchased. He quickly grabbed a slice and offered one to Lively, but she was distracted by the container of salt on the table next to his flashlight and lighter.

She tilted her head toward it. "Yours, I presume? I didn't get the complimentary sea-salt with my room."

He grabbed it quickly along with the other items and put it on the kitchen counter.

She noticed that there was a scattering of salt on the table. "One hundred thirty-four," she said as she wiped the salt away with her hand.

"What?"

She shrugged. "That's how many there were. I'm like Rain Man when it comes to counting things."

" _Rain Man?"_

"Really? You know. With Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman?"

He looked lost and simply shrugged.

"Wow." Lively said. "Really?" She finally picked up a slice, took a bite. "At least it's still hot."

\---

Castiel ate the pizza quietly with Lively. They were at the small table beside the window. The light from the afternoon sun filtered through. The shadows from the panes cast long lines on the floor and table.

"The pizza guy just delivered our pizza," Castiel remarked, trying to make conversation.

"Uh, yeah. That's what he does. Were you expecting something more?" the young woman asked.

"Uh, sex, maybe," Castiel replied, bluntly.

"Sex?" Lively said slowly, trying to confirm if she heard that right.

"Sex is quite enjoyable. So is this slice of pizza," he took a bite.

Lively laughed. "You're a weird guy, Cas-or-Steve."

"You can pick one, you know. My name, I mean."

"Then Cas. It sounds like a nickname, I like nicknames. And, I think it's what you'd prefer to be called if given a choice."

She was right. Dean called him Cas. He wasn't sure how much he liked her calling him that yet.

"So, how much do I owe you for the pizza?" the woman asked, wiping her hands on a paper napkin.

Cas shook his head. "It's okay."

"Well, now I owe you a favor."

"A favor," Cas repeated. "Well. Do you have a laptop?"

"Yes."

"Can I have it?"

Lively looked crossly at Castiel. "You know, three slices of pizza is not worth a laptop."

"Oh. Right," he said, seemingly lost in thought. He was thinking about what favor could possibly be worth three pieces of pizza.

"Look, I can bring it over if you wanted to look something up." She got up to retrieve her laptop from her room. "But I'm the only one touching it."

\---

Cas put the leftovers away in the small fridge. He started cleaning up and then heard a knock on the door. He let Lively in. She had a small white laptop tucked under her arm. She sat at the table with Castiel, who pulled a chair up. She typed her password and logged into her laptop. "So, what did you need to do with the laptop?"

"Research," Castiel answered, simply.

"Of what?"

"Local legends or something." He wasn't sure how this hunting thing worked. At least on his own.

Lively typed something into the search engine, but couldn't find anything that caught Castiel's eye. She sighed in frustration. "More specific, Cas."

"Specific?"

"What are you looking for exactly?" she clarified.

"Deaths. Or missing persons." Castiel said after thinking things through. If there was some electromagnetic interference, that usually met a ghost. He tried to remember what Dean did when he was watching him. "Someone lost in the forests here?"

The girl brought her right leg up and propped an arm on her knee. Her skirt was long enough that it draped and hid everything, even in this awkward position. Castiel sat stiffly, watching the screen, his cobalt eyes flicking back and forth as he quickly read the links that Lively was clicking on. There had been several missing persons actually. The deaths in the forests weren't too common, but seemed to be what one would expect for people lost in the woods: Animal attacks, exposure to the elements, et cetera. It seemed random. The distance they were from the local towns and villages. How they died. It could really just be people who had wandered into the woods and gotten lost. There would be years when the rate of it increased, and then that was usually after one of the towns expanded or bought property. Perhaps it was a ghost that was an environmentalist?

The former angel was not one to be deterred. He knew that there was something out in the woods. A ghost or something, but he didn't know who. But if these people had their bodies found, then they would have been haunting closer to town, not out in these woods. Castiel was racking his brain. He did not have a hunter's instinct just yet. And it just turned into a game of  _What would Sam and Dean Winchester Do?_

"Any of this what you're looking for?" The young woman asked.

He sighed. "I think I'll have to go into the woods to figure it out."

"Can I come with?" Lively asked.

"No." The answer was immediate. Final. No negotiations. Castiel was going to bring salt, some matches, lighter fluid, and his angel blade. He knew it was risky, but he would survive, surely. He had survived worse after all.

Lively pouted.

***

Jody was typing away on the laptop when Sam came in from the A.P.U. meeting. There was no Dean. She had hoped that both Winchester brothers would come because there was quite a few things she had wanted to ask them. For example, that awkwardness between the two of them when they first met up with her.

But, once again, Sam was on top of things. "Hey."

When there was something to talk about, it seemed that neither Winchester allowed anybody an opening.

Jody saw that she'd have to force one. She wasn't as good as Dean had been, easily just asking her what her issue was. But, then again, she wasn't as guarded as the two of them. "So what's going on between the two of you?"

Sam looked shocked that she had asked. "Nothing. I've been worried about Dean lately. He keeps telling me that I'm worrying over nothing."

"What happened?" Jody asked, concerned.

"Nothing bad. A case shook him up a bit." Sam tried to change the subject. "He's afraid of flying, you know." It had nothing to do with anything they had done recently, but Sam hoped that Jody would just connect the two and stop asking questions.

"So where is he now?" Jody asked.

"With Suzy, the chastity counselor. Dean swears he's seen her somewhere before. I'm pretty sure he's just going to try to have sex with her."

"The _chastity_ counselor?"

Sam smiled and then said, "Yep. Only Dean would go to a church abstinence meeting and try to hook up with the counselor." He segued quickly into the subject of the case before Jody could comment on the topic further, "So, about the church meeting. It turned into confessional. Two of our vics--Honor and Pastor Fred--did the dirty."

"Oh, well. They're not the only ones. Barb Blanton, our missing bride to be--"

"Yeah?"

Jody continued, "Her mom said she heard Barb and her fiancé in Barb's bedroom."

Sam could see where this was headed. "Going at it?"

"Well, she said she heard sex noises, then Barb crying, then Neil telling Barb it didn't count because it was under 30 seconds."

He chuckled.

"And then, two hours later, she heard a smash and saw a flash of light under the door."

"Blue light?"

Jody nodded and then added, "You know, I'm thinking whatever this thing is, it's not going after virgins, even born-again virgins."

"It's taking virgins who break their chastity vow. So dragons are off the list."

"Dragons?" Jody said. She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm sorry, those are a thing?"

"Yeah," Sam replied.

\---

Dean was looking through one of Suzy's drawers, finding a stash of _Casa Erotica_ DVDs. He raised his eyebrows. He did not expect that. His phone rang and he answered it now that Suzy was in the bathroom. It was Sam. "Hey," Dean said as he realized that the girl on the front of the DVDs was Suzy herself.

"What's going on?"

"I found something _big._ "

There was a lewdness to Dean's voice that caused Sam to sigh on the other end. "Yeah, well, so did we. So, get this: It's not a dragon."

"Huh. Hmmm." Dean pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he studied the DVD covers. He heard Suzy coming out of the bathroom. "Hey, gotta go."

She came into view as he hid the DVDs behind his back. He smiled. He knew that there was only one way tonight was ending and that was sex with a porn star. And, as predicted, his virginity was not going to last very long.

***

Castiel was in the woods, holding the cellphone, he had packed salt, matches, some lighter fluid, and he had his silver angel blade hidden up his sleeve. The sun had set. He stepped through the woods, his feet still sore, but he was determined. "Hello?" he called into the woods.

No answer. He had been walking forever and cast his flashlight from tree to tree. Not finding anything he went to turn around, following the same path he was on. Except it didn't lead back to the motel.

His feet were hurting and he just wanted to sleep. Perhaps ask Dean what this strange entity in the woods was if he was so inclined. Then, his flashlight started to flicker. He put it away. So, now the ghost was here.

His phone chimed. Someone was calling him. He picked up the call and put the phone against his ear, trying to concentrate on the garbled words.

"Are you lost?"

He put it on speaker phone. "What's your name?" Castiel said.

"Why do..." and then the whisper was lost to static. "--sss---"

The voice on the other end stopped talking, then there was the first clear sound on his phone: a giggle. And then, Castiel could only hear the dead silence.

He glanced up and saw a small blue light flickering behind some trees like fire. Its movement was erratic and caused the shadows to dance confusingly. Castiel gripped the angel blade in his hands, cautious. Was this a ghost then? He slowly went to follow it and as he did so, it darted in the trees. As he passed some, he noticed what looked like scratches on the trees. Keeping his eyes open, he noticed that there were portions underneath the scratches which were always carved into the trees. There was some sort of symbol carved into the bark of the trees and someone or something had defaced them all. He pulled his phone out, but it wouldn't work in the way he wanted. Electromagnetic interference. He put his fingers against three evenly spaced holes, reminiscent of the points of a triangle.

As he moved, he noticed this on more and more trees. Three holes in an area where someone had scratched out a symbol.

"You still there? Look, I just want to figure out… what you are."

"I like it here." The voice came through Castiel's phone in its soft whisper. "Forbidden--" The voice disappeared with the interference again. Seconds passed of nothing but white noise and then, clearly, "--Castiel?"

"Do you remember your name?"

The fire stopped darting away from him. Castiel approached the fire and was close enough to touch it, but he didn't.

The whisper was quiet as it answered, "Y--sss."

"What do you want?"

"Be honest," this time, the voice sounded whispered into his ear. Castiel could swear he felt the hot breath on his right earlobe. It prickled the hair on the back his neck.

"Honest about what?"

No answer.

All Castiel could think was to offer a confession to the spirit. Perhaps he needed that to be the right answer because right now, he felt guilty for everything he had done. "I… am no angel. I've made mistakes. Mistakes that hurt those I cared about. My family. My friends. And I'm ill-equipped to even attempt reparations. And I just want to _fix_ things."

The blue fire suddenly started moving quickly. He chased after it doggedly and then, when it disappeared, he saw the motel. The neon sign flickering with the missing letters, but proudly proclaiming that there was still vacancy. "Huh," Castiel said. He went to his room, feeling like an idiot for not finding anything and then settled on his bed, sound asleep. He was exhausted.

\---

Lively knocked on the door later that night.

He mumbled awake. Finally, he rose and then walked to the door to open it. He saw his newly acquired friend, though now she was wearing a gauzy nightgown instead of the long, patterned skirt and the top she wore earlier. Her hair was in a messy updo. And she was barefoot. She was braless and Cas could see the shape of her nipples through the pale fabric of her nightgown. She had no shame about how she looked.

"What is it?"

"So, what did you find in the woods?" she asked.

Castiel looked at her. "Couldn't this wait til morning? I need sleep now."

"Well, _obviously_ it could," Lively said. "But I need sleep, too. And I can't sleep until you tell me about what you found. And a girl needs her beauty rest, you know?"

"Nothing. I was just lost for a few hours and then found my way back."

"You know, I can help, right? I don't know what you're up to, but it looks fun."

Cas shook his head again. "I can do this on my own," he said gruffly. He had to do this on his own. He couldn't just hand it off to someone else. Hunting was a strange and dangerous endeavor. It was a world that most people would be better off not knowing.

"You know, you don't have to do it alone." Her voice was sweet and small. "I can help."

Cas gave her a pained smile.

"Please, I insist," the woman said. 

Reluctantly, Cas stepped aside and let her in. She made herself comfortable at his table, sitting with one leg up as she seemed to always want to do.

Cas shut the door and then headed to the bed. Lively's head was canted and her eyes were staring softly at his feet. "You're limping."

"Blisters," Cas said simply.

"That's interesting."

"What is?"

"You seem like you're used to wandering. There's something hard about you. Weathered. Hurt and broken, but strong. You were a soldier perhaps? But your body isn't used to it. How can that be?" She mused aloud. "Sorry, I'm just observant. I've had a lot of practice."

"A soldier… yes." _When I was an angel._

"How about this? Let me see your feet."

She was on the floor before Cas could actually give her permission. Her hands were gentle as she pulled off his socks and he let her. She winced as she saw his feet. They were rubbed raw in some places. She touched a tender area where fluid collected under his skin on his soles. Bad blisters. "Where did you serve?" She asked because he didn't have soldier's feet, yet there was honesty and pain in his admitting to be one. Memories so strong that one could not hide them.

"Uh." He averted his eyes. Castiel didn't know what to say. He wasn't a soldier in any branch of the military that he could name. He wasn't very good at lying.

She glanced up at him. "A deserter then?"

"I guess. Yeah." His mind was busy with the things he had done. With how far he had fallen. With how often he had hurt Dean and Sam with his mistakes. Did he desert heaven? All he knew was that he was separated from it. Did he want to get back there? Well, first he needed to fix it. He thought of calling them. Just to hear their voices. Especially Dean, who had banished him from the Bunker. Cas was at his weakest, but he didn't have his friends with him.

Lively understood that she might have overstepped her bounds when the silence lasted too long. "Forgive me, Cas. I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine. I just. You reminded me that I need to call someone." He moved to stand up.

"Don't. Just stay there; I'll get your phone."

"Why are you doing this?" Castiel asked.

Lively looked at him. "Because. I owe you."

"For… what?"

"For the pizza," she said. She rolled her eyes, as if she couldn't believe Castiel had already forgotten.

"But, I thought we were okay. You did some research for me."

Lively shrugged, "Yeah, all I did was look up some things on the laptop for you. It didn't even really help you." She lifted her gray eyes to look at Castiel.

He looked back at her. The quiet air between them was stifling. Lively stood up from off of the floor. "You want me to leave."

The former angel nodded.

"Why didn't you say so?" Lively grinned.

"Uh."

"You're too polite, hon." She smiled as she left the motel room, leaving Cas alone again.

***

Dean lay next to Suzy after some really good sex. Or perhaps he could call her Carmelita because that was who she was in the _Casa Erotica_ DVDs. "I gotta say… I really missed that," Suzy said. She stood up and Dean leaned to watch her naked ass as she bent over to pick up her clothes. She tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear and shyly looked to Dean, who finally got up to dress himself.

She walked over before he put his shirt on and put her hand on his chest. She tried to ignore some of the scars he had, but his chiseled body made her feel hot and bothered. She focused on the tattoo near her fingertips. "That's really cool." She wore just a well-fitted tee-shirt over a sports bra and some terry shorts.

Dean nodded. "It is."

"What does it mean?" Suzy asked.

"That my body is my own." And he painfully remembered how he allowed an entity to possess Sam. While Ezekiel wasn't a demon, he was still within Sam and sometimes took control over his brother. He was putting a lot of trust in an angel that he didn't know too well, but who seemed eager to help.

"Huh," Suzy said as she pulled up her hair. "Now, that's something I believe in as well. It's sort of why I wanted to do this chastity vow thing. Reclaim myself…"

She looked to Dean because he wasn't answering her. His expression puzzled her. He was intently focused on the door. His nostrils flared and that intensity wouldn't leave him. And then a _growl_ left his throat.

"Uh, Dean?"

It was like he wasn't listening to her; his mind was elsewhere. He grabbed her hand too tightly.

"Dean!" She snatched her hand away and that caused the hunter to let go of her. "What's wrong with you?"

His nose crinkled in a snarl. He couldn't speak at the moment, but his mind was sharp, thoughts whirring through it at a fast pace. Though how human those thoughts were, even he wasn't sure. Dean looked to Suzy, who was panicking because the man she had just had sex with was going insane, acting like a beast, and she had no clue why. He pushed it all back, trying to regain his human mind again and then said, "I'll protect you."

"From what?" Suzy said, confused and afraid.

And with that, the door was shattered open and blue fire filled their senses. And then, they were gone.

\---

Jody glanced up from the laptop to see Sam putting his jacket on. "What's up?" she asked.

"This thing is taking people who break their vows, right?"

"Yeah."

"Dean and Suzy. It's been over an hour."

Jody stood up, realizing the implication. "Right." She started putting her jacket on.

\---

Suzy came to before Dean did. She was lying down on the dirty floor of the underground room. She heard the hysteria of Barb, a victim who had been abducted before she was. She was crying and was attempting to claw her way out. Her fingertips were bleeding from trying to work through the stone walls. "Let us out! Let us out!" Her voice had gotten hoarse.

Honor crossed her arms and watched helplessly. "What are you doing?"

Neil tried to comfort his fiancée, Barb, but it was obvious that he was just as desperate as she was. However, he had, for the most part, simply given up.

"There has to be a way out," Barb said.

Suzy recognized the voices from people who she led in the A.P.U. group. She slowly lifted her torso off of the ground and her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She noticed Dean beside her. He was unconscious, but made small whimpering noises, as if he were being plagued by nightmares.

She was almost afraid of awakening him, remembering the strange change in expression he had and how he had seemingly become something other than completely human--mentally, at least. But then she remembered his promise to protect her. She touched his shoulder. "Hey Dean."

He jerked awake and looked at her with that strange, lost, and animal expression. She could see it in the barely light of the dungeon. In the way he lifted himself and in the weight of his silence.

"Dean?" she asked.

He shook his head, as if to shake that inhuman part of him out of his mind. It seemed to have worked because he asked, "Uh, where are we?"

Neil hugged his sobbing wife-to-be as he answered for the group. "Hell."

\---

Sam was in Suzy's apartment. He had the _Casa Erotica_ DVDs in his hands. He was trying to piece together what could have happened here, but there was scant evidence. At least he knew that Dean was here. And that they had definitely did the deed. Jody came into the apartment after interviewing the neighbors.

"Hey," Sam said.

"Hey."

"Neighbors see anything?"

"Flash of blue," the sheriff replied.

"Huh." His voice sounded far away. Sam had no clue where his brother was.

"You sure Dean was here?" Jody could see the weight of his worrying on his shoulders, but she also wanted to make sure that Sam wasn't holding onto any sort of false hope.

Sam held up the DVDs. "Oh, yeah. And I think he crossed someone off his bucket list."

\---

In the dark room, Dean was up on a ladder, trying to work through the trapdoor. He pushed and pushed at it.

"It's no use," Neil said. "We tried. There's no escape."

"Are we going to run out of air?" Suzy asked.

Neil shook his head. "I don't think so. Somebody wants us to die nice and slow."

Dean noticed that there were only three victims in here, other than himself and Suzy. "There was one more, right?" He seemed too calm for the situation.

"Pastor Fred was in here," Honor said, a note of rising terror in her voice. "It took him after he, um."

"What took him?" Dean asked.

"We couldn't see exactly. It was… it was so bright. Like it was on fire."

"I'll get you out," Dean said. He looked around in the darkness, at the people below him, frightened out of their minds.

"How!" Neil said, his voice was strained with fear. It wasn't a question, more of an assertion that there was no way out.

Dean grunted as he tried and failed to open the trapdoor again, and then said, "I'm working on it."


	3. Symbiosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… I hope you guys don't hate the OC Lively. I PROMISE that there's a reason for everything thus far. I HAVE A PLAN. There's not too much of Cas in this chapter because it's getting to the climax of Dean's and Sam's story line. Next chapter will have more about Cas's hunt.

***

_ Hartford, South Dakota _

Sam and Jody were back in the hotel. It was the best that they could do at the time because there was still nothing that they could do without more knowledge. Jody's eyes were intent on the laptop screen. "Hey. Virgins, fire--sound familiar?"

Sam hovered close to her. She could hear his soft exhale. "Vesta, Roman Goddess of the Hearth," he read aloud.

"In ancient Rome, six virgins were dedicated to this chick every year. Their main duty was to tend Vesta's hearth."

"Wait, so, fire is connected to virginity?"

"Yeah, the girls had to be pure because fire is the symbol of purity."

"Huh. Okay, as long as Vesta's fire was kept lit, Rome received a good harvest." All of this had to do with a good harvest? Then again, throughout history, people have had funny ideas about sacrifice, offerings, and a good harvest. Keeping a fire lit with virgins tending to it was the least violent one he had heard. There were a few close calls that he and Dean had with gods and the notion of fertility.

Jody scrolled down, trying to find the pertinent information that would ease Sam's fears. What she was looking for was a chance. She read aloud, "The virgins had to stay celibate for 30 years. If they broke their vows, they were buried alive."

Buried  _ alive _ . So there was a chance they could find him, but it also frustrated Sam because he had no way of trying to locate his brother at this time. He could be buried  _ anywhere _ .

Sam heard his phone ringing. He glanced at the screen. It was not Dean. It was a number he didn't know. He didn't care who it was. Right now, it wasn't Dean. He pressed the red button and that was that.

Ezekiel, who was the entity who possessed Sam, felt the man's mind was in turmoil. This happened often in a hunt and he wondered why they put themselves in such dangerous situations. However, he noted that there was a sharp attachment that the men had for each other. One that meant that being apart was inherently more frightening than being together. Facing that violent ghost at Sonny's was easier than what Sam was facing now: The possibility that he may never see his brother again.

***

_ Ardent, Virginia _

Castiel was sitting on the bed, his cell phone against his ear as he waited for Sam to pick up. He looked at the phone when he realized that Sam must not be answering calls right now. He had tried Dean first, but there was no answer. That time, the phone rang out and when he was prompted to leave a voice mail, he hung up. Defeated, Castiel crumpled on the bed. He was without his wings, without his powers, without the Winchesters. Completely and utterly alone. 

Lively was an interesting character, a bit too bold in her interactions with him, if he was honest. It was enough to unnerve him, but also inspire him. He glanced at the phone one more time. He had to do  _ something _ . He called Dean again, leaving a voicemail this time. An awkward one.

"Uh, was that the beep? Hello? Uh, Dean, it's Cas. I'm trying to figure out the human thing." He paused. "Right now I'm hunting something. I haven't figured it out yet. I… really miss you, Dean." He let too much emotion hang in his gruff voice for that final sentence. Quickly, he hung up the phone, leaving the message abrupt, and fell backwards onto his bed.  He shut his eyes and thought of those moments when he'd appear in front of Dean. So close he could count the freckles on his face. And then Dean would complain about his personal space. He opened his eyes again and saw the off-white ceiling of the motel room. Castiel frowned. _Still human._

***

Dean hopped off of the ladder. All he had managed to do was get his arms sore from trying to push the trap door open. "Son of a bitch." He was getting upset. He started pacing again. Separated from Sam, he realized just how much being surrounded by someone who had some knowledge about his condition was just better for him. He constantly set out to prove to Sam that there was nothing wrong because he had more motivation to do so. He didn't want Sam to worry. It was harder to focus on the task of acting human when his little brother wasn't there. And though Suzy gave him a good night, she didn't know him and only thought he was crazy when he indulged in his strange behavior. It made him feel insane and that just fed into his torment. He was stressed and it took everything not to start howling in desperation. He knew that that would freak the other victims out. Though they were already quite freaked.

"Dean," Suzy said, trying to snap him out of it. Earlier, he had been the one that seemed the most competent. Now, he looked a second away from a meltdown.

"What!" he snapped. And then, he saw that Suzy's expression. He cringed and avoided eye contact. "Sorry."

"Is there anyway out?"

He gave her an odd expression. He played with the idea of telling her because it was so much easier to be honest. Then again, he survived forty years of torture in Hell. This was nothing. This was easy in comparison. "No… but Sammy can get us."

"From A.P.U.? Your brother?"

"Yeah… We sort of do this. We just need to tell him where we are."

Her voice had helped him focus again. Dean found that when he was kept occupied,thinking, then it was easier to remain completely human. He put his hand in his pockets. "Son of a--" 

"What's wrong?" Suzy asked.

"They took my phone."

The blonde's face fell. "Dean. Maybe God wants us down here -- because of what we did. This is our punishment--"

Dean smiled as he pulled out a second phone. "Lucky I carry a spare. And Suzy--" Dean reached for her shoulder comfortingly, "This isn't God's work."

She looked at him, hope dead in her eyes.

He tried to sniff out where they were. He could smell  _ everything _ , but he couldn't sift through the scents that slapped his senses and discern where they were. It wasn't working.  _ Why not?  _ He inhaled deeply again and then snorted the air out of his noise sharply.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out where we are, but it's not working." He remembered in Enid, the case in which he started this whole mind-meld mess he got himself into, he had sharper senses. He was, also, not attempting to quash them at any given opportunity. Then, he had let himself indulge in his instincts a bit more and it made him able to sniff out even cancer. He looked around in the dark room that they were in. Then, Dean had a revelation. "Here." He found some paper and balled it up. "Throw this." He handed it to Suzy.

Suzy held it in her hands. "Uh, why?"

She was making him second guess himself, but he persevered. If this worked, then it would help tremendously. "Because I'm weird. Just do it."

She tossed it feebly and Dean went after it and picked it up and came back. It didn't feel the same. It didn't feel right. He whined the keening sound that went from his chest and up through his nose.  _ Wait, I'm almost there.  _ He cleared his throat and cleared his mind before he could speak. "Again, Suzy."

She dropped it on the floor. "Dean, this is stupid. We need to get out of here."

Dean sighed. "I know it's stupid. It's just--"

Honor, cleaved herself from the wall she was leaning against, quietly picked the ball up and tossed it. Reflexively, Dean went after it and came back, handing it back to Honor without glancing up at her. 

He continued the conversation just where he left off. "-- that I'm… going through something. And--"

Amused, Honor had tossed the paper ball again. Dean ran after it and brought it back. His words stopped working and he glanced from Honor to the ball of paper expectantly. This time she withheld it. He gave an inquisitive noise. Something between a grunt and a whine as he tilted his head.

"Oh my God," Suzy said, unabashedly taking the name of the Lord's name in vain. She remembered his odd behavior in her bedroom. The way that he  _ growled _ at the door. That animal expression in his eyes. And now he was playing  _ fetch _ . "He's a dog." 

\---

Sam's phone rang loudly as Jody was typing on the computer, trying to find underground places to search for Dean and the other victims. Sam answered immediately. "Dean?"

"Sam! Sammy!"

The smile on Sam's face was a joy and relief as he heard his brother's voice on the other end. "Dean, hey."

Jody noticed how easily they brothers were able to get back to business now that they were back in contact with each other.

Dean's voice crackled with static. He didn't have the best service. "I'm--"

"Underground?" Sam finished.

"Yeah--" his voice was coming in and out. "Smells like manure--Rotted wood. Old hay. I think… we're--" And the words were too hard to hear. Sam was so desperate. He heard the whistle of a train and then nothing except for static fighting the words Dean was trying to say.

"Dean? Dean! Say it again!" But the phone hung up. Wherever Dean was, he had horrible reception. Sam looked up to Jody, the expression in his eyes was crushed. "I lost him."

"What?"

"I heard a train. Dean was talking about…" He let his words drift, but then got back on track. "I guess... look for a barn? And, and…"

Jody was typing on the computer. Her fingers were a flurry on the keyboard. "It's okay, Sam, we've got him. The old Wimmer farm."

She and Sam both got up to leave, putting their coats on.

"Wait," tall Winchester said. "Anything on a weapon?"

Jody checked the laptop. "Oak stained in virgin blood. Where are we gonna get a virgin?"

"I'm a virgin!"

She grinned. "I think we need the real McCoy here, Sam."

"Okay, I think I know someone." Sam planned to head over to the church to meet up with someone from the A.P.U. and hopefully convince her to give blood.

***

Castiel lay on his side. He turned over, fretful and unable to find sleep. He was obsessing over the fact that neither Winchester had answered his call. Quietly, he considered the fact that they didn't need him anymore. He was shuffled away in the way that the others who flitted in and out of the Winchesters' lives had been. He had always thought he was different. That, even when he stopped being useful, they'd keep him around. But it seemed that he was wrong.

His eyes felt burning, so he wiped them.  _ Tears. _ Human emotions were strange. Raw and intense. He had never felt anything like this. He remembered the rollercoaster of emotions that Nora had sent him on. The hope that perhaps she loved him and then the crushing realization that she didn't. He didn't understand the stigma of being homeless--as he was hired through a program that was to help the homeless. All he knew was that she called him special and a hard worker and apparently, that wasn't good enough.

Despite that, Dean pushing him out of the Bunker hurt more. Dean telling him to keep his nose out of angelic matters hurt more. To keep himself away from hunting. It made him feel inadequate. Unworthy.

He needed to go out and walk. He got up to his feet and headed out after pulling his socks and shoes on. He put on his dark red hooded sweatshirt and zipped it shut. He walked outside.

Perhaps all he needed was to get on with this hunt, solve this supernatural mystery of people disappearing in the woods, of the ghost that had its voice in the phone, of the fire in the woods. He glanced up and saw it, a blue flame flickering between the trees as he hugged the cheap sweatshirt closer to his body. 

He watched quietly, needing to strain his eyes to study the strange light, it was so far away and dim. He was searching for the figure again, but couldn't see anything. Castiel sighed as he pushed his hands into his pockets. He wished for his powers again, so that he could go after it, but now, he felt powerless. He retreated back into the motel. He couldn't do anything out here.

***

The meeting had not gone well. The woman accused them of being Pagans and threatened to call the police until Jody punched her in the face. Bloody nose worked just as well as having her cut her hand and bleed onto the oaken stick. Blood was blood after all.

Jody held the weapon--the oaken stick stained in virgin blood--as Sam drove the Impala to the barn. She couldn't help but feel jealous that they both cared that much about each other. She didn't have that. Not for a long time. And she feared that she'd never have it now. She stared at the road until she saw the Wimmer farm come into view. They parked the Impala someplace inconspicuous.

Sam remained silent. Just to break that silence, Jody said, "Looks quiet. So, we find Dean, find Vesta and skewer the bitch."

A smile tugged on Sam's lips. "Yeah."

It was dark and Sam pulled out some flashlights. He went to the trunk of his car and picked out a gun to use. He was certain that, even if it wasn't going to kill Vesta, it was going to stun her or at least slow her down.

\---

Suzy and the other victims looked at Dean, who was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He didn't really want to talk about what had happened about an hour ago: He had just sniffed out where they were and managed to contact his brother. Still, he seemed certain that they were going to leave. Honor and Suzy tried to be as hopeful.

"He's not coming," Neil said, despondent. His fiancée was nestled against him, numb now, silent and crying.

"He's coming," Dean insisted. An hour ago, he relayed the information he found through the smells of the area to his brother. However, it was on very spotty cell phone reception. Barely a single bar and that was when he held the phone against the edge of the trap door at the top of the ladder.

Suzy looked at her ring and the other victims. She knew what they had all done, breaking their vows of abstinence. They knew what she had done. It made her uncomfortable to be bared like this. Like her soul was naked. And the man she did it with? She glanced at Dean. She didn't know if he was even human.

"How can you be so sure?" Suzy asked. Her faith in God had been shaken. She didn't understand how Dean could have so much faith in a mortal human.

"Because he's my brother," he said that like it was a valid answer.

He sniffed deeply through his nose and then breathed out. He recognized the smell. "Sammy's here." His eyes brightened as he climbed the ladder quickly and started banging on the trap door. "Sammy! Sam! Sam!"

\---

"You hear that?" Sam asked Jody as they entered the barn. She gripped the stake tighter and followed the ruckus behind Sam. As soon as he identified the lost voice as Dean's, Sam started running towards it, his heart beating quickly. "Dean?" But the voice was muffled and hard to pinpoint.

Jody followed after him, keeping her eyes out for Vesta. She wondered what a goddess would look like. She moved and then her footfalls made a different sound on a section of the floor. Old, moldy hay was on top of the trap door. "Sam. He's here."

She started pushing the hay and debris off of the trap door and Sam started to pull on the door, but found that it was locked with a heavy padlock. "Shit," he said as he hit the door with frustration. He took out two bobby pins from his wallet. The Winchesters were almost always prepared. Luckily, the lock didn't seem like it would be hard to pick.

\---

The victims could hear Sam above them. "I'm coming, Dean!"

Suzy smiled as she realized that they had been found and would soon be freed. Honor laughed in relief. Neil lightened up and Barb seemed to have become a little more comfortable. Just enough that she wasn't panicking any longer. Wasn't frozen in fear. Hope allayed their fears. Dean smiled, feeling responsible for raising their spirits. "Told ya," he said.

"Why isn't it open already?" Neil asked.

"He's picking the lock right now."

Suzy wondered who these brothers were that they could pick locks, find the other on nothing more than a garbled phone call, and, at least one of them, acted like a dog. They weren't normal. "Who are you guys?"

"Winchesters."

Dean's smile faded when the familiar scent of a fire filled his nostrils: the scent of wood burning and perfume mingling with the smoke. "Sam! Bonnie's here. She's the one who put us down here."

\---

Bonnie walked into the barn, moving quietly. Little did she know, Dean had already tipped off her arrival. However, she had seen the Impala and was looking for whoever was in here, meddling. Sam and Jody had hidden themselves, tossing hay on top of the trap door and hoping that Bonnie wouldn't find out that they had unlocked the trapdoor.

Sam had the gun ready in his hands and Jody was across the room, hiding. She had the sharpened stick in her hands. The plan was going to go like this: Sam would distract the goddess and Jody would pounce her and push the stake through her heart. Sweat beaded on Jody's forehead and she tried to keep her breathing even. Sam was managing a lot better. His expression was calm.  _ I can't believe these boys are used to this.  _ She thought to herself.

Of course, nothing goes according to plan.

Vesta stopped. "I know you are in here," she said in her sweet voice. "I haven't lived for thousands of years just for some mortals to get the drop on me." She put her hands on her hips.

She lifted her left hand and produced tongues of blue fire quickly--nearly white with how bright they were. When the light had died down, Vesta was gone, having used the fire as a diversion.

"Shit," Sam said. He kept in his hiding place and then felt as he was lifted off of his feet and thrown across the barn, landing hard in one of the stalls. Jody wanted to run across and save him, cry out his name, anything to make sure that he was okay, but she kept her mouth shut. Instead, she carefully started to sneak towards Vesta, keeping herself against the shadows.

Vesta daintily bent over and picked up the gun. She smiled. "This wouldn't kill me." She crushed the gun in her hands. She was so strong. She tossed the useless metal aside. 

"But this will," Jody quipped as she rushed Vesta with the weapon. 

However, the goddess easily dodged it and, in a reversal move, turned the stake around and pushed it into Jody's shoulder. Vesta lifted the sheriff off of the ground and held her up so that the sheriff couldn't touch the ground with her feet. "Oops, it seems like you missed," Vesta said condescendingly in her sweet voice.

\---

Dean whined at the trap door and looked down at the victims. He couldn't risk them coming out and getting involved. They might get hurt.

"What's going on up there?" Honor asked.

Dean shut his eyes, his nose working and his ears listening. "They're fighting." He frowned. _And losing._

The acrid smell of blood hit his nose like a slap to the face. And could hear that the fight wasn't going well for Sam or Jody. He put his finger to his lips and then eased the trap door open. It seemed that Vesta was distracted by something--Jody. He winced when he saw the state that his friend was in.

He shut it and then looked to the victims, "Nobody comes out until I come and get you, got it?"

Neil, Barb, Honor, and Suzy quietly nodded.

The element of surprise was a trump card only if he could play it right. He slowly eased the trap door open, climbed out, and then eased it shut.

\---

"Really?" Jody taunted despite the immense pain she was feeling. She was watching as Sam moved in the stall.  _ He's safe…  _ She needed to keep the goddess's attention on her. "This is how a goddess acts?"

Vesta smiled and then placed Jody onto the slaughter table forcefully. Meanwhile, Sam was moving carefully towards the goddess, trying to remain covert.

"I'm sort of new to this, but, you know, a Roman deity burying people alive in a barn? Sort of pathetic, don't you think?"

She seemed to have touched a nerve because Vesta's grin faded momentarily. "It only got pathetic when I started having to do it myself." She punched Jody in the face, cutting her lip. The sheriff spat blood at her and kicked at her, which served as a good distraction.

Sam rushed her and knocked her aside momentarily. Vesta got back onto her feet, a dark expression on her face, then held him against a wooden beam in the barn. But, when she touched him, her expression became one of confusion and then shock as she realized that there was something  so incredibly wrong with him. He was so broken. "Dear boy, you're all duct tape and safety pins inside. How are you alive?"

Sam furrowed his brow. This wasn't the first hunt in which the monster made a comment like that about him. Then there was the lost time. So much wasn't making sense any more.

Jody put her hand on the stake in her shoulder, but couldn't find the strength to move it. Her hand was shaking too much. Probably from the pain. Suddenly, she saw another hand move over hers.  _ Dean? _

She whimpered as he pulled the stake from her shoulder. She had tried to stifle her cry.

Vesta brought her flame-covered hand closer to Sam, letting the warm fire lick at his stomach, burning his shirt away and his skin. Sam's eyes flashed blue and the goddess watched as his skin healed quickly. 

"What are you?"

"He's my brother, bitch." Dean used that moment of distraction to push the stake through Vesta's heart and watched as she burned away in blue flames and finally died.

Jody sighed as she tenderly got up, needing to use her good arm to prop herself up. It's over and all she could think was that couldn't wait for a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and a long nap.

"Alright, Sam, let's get these people home." 

Sam turned to face him and Dean could see it was Ezekiel for a moment before the angel relinquished control again.

***

Castiel woke up to Lively in his motel room. She was really close to him and he startled and fell out of the bed, dragging his blankets with him. 

"You were dreaming," she said as he got his bearings. "It was a good dream, wasn't it?"

Castiel sat up and asked, "How do you know?" 

Lively watched his quickly fading smile as he bunched the covers over his crotch. "Oh, I don't know, let's say I'm perceptive," she said. "So, what did you dream about?" She was genuinely curious because Castiel, while he did steal glances at her body from time to time, didn't lust after her in the way other men did.

"A… friend of mine," Castiel answered.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Sounds scandalous."

"Not really. It's just… It's complicated..." It was as if it finally dawned on him that Lively was in here. "When did you get in here?"

"I did say I was going to help you. So, I researched some more things last night. Interesting things that I think you were looking for."

Castiel stood up and started getting dressed, his back facing Lively. He put on the jeans and Lively noticed he was going commando. He was an odd duck. He turned around once he got his shirt buttoned up. "So, what did you find?"

"Well, you didn't give me much, but here," Lively hopped up and ran to the laptop. She turned it around to show Castiel. She had several tabs up and scrolled through them before she found the right one. "This. Apparently, there was a group of teenagers--locals to the area--who got lost in the woods after spending their entire lives there. It was after a bonfire they held in the woods. They were missing for a week. They weren't hurt. Now, this happened last month, actually."

He looked slightly impressed with how much effort she had put into it.

She continued, "Then there was this, it's about a man who had wandered the forest alone for two years.  _ That's two years,  _ Cas. And then he was found last year."

"Last year?" Castiel asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"His name?"

"It's Alan Winograd."

"Where is he?"

"He's living with his sister about an hour away in Scarborough."

***

Jody had her arm in a sling as she packed up her things. She was still feeling sore, but managed to do it with only minimal help from the Winchesters. She needed to get home to Sioux Falls.

"Heading out?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I'd tell you boys to stay out of trouble, but what's the point?" she laughed.

Sam hugged her, accidentally squeezing her bad shoulder. "Ow." She winced and the tall Winchester smiled apologetically.

Dean followed suit, being a little more gentle than Sam, learning from his brother's mistake. "Thanks, Jody. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh what can I say? I'm getting the hang of this." If someone told her years ago that she would fight goddesses, she would have laughed in their faces. She watched as Dean retreated to the bed, he paced in circles near the bed. 

Sam attempted to refocus her attention before she could think anything was strange about Dean's behavior. "Jody." He helped her out and gave another farewell, "Drive safe." Once she was gone, Sam turned to his brother. "Dean, we have to talk."

Dean circled a few more times before he finally let himself sit on the bed. Sam knew that it was an effect from the potion he took weeks ago. Lingering in his body. He tried to think of the research he had already done on it, and still had the hope that they could cure him, but the more he read, the more evidence there was that this really wasn't something that actually wore off. Finally satisfied, Dean asked, "What's up?"

Sam felt worry tug at him, as he tried to figure out how to word his question. "What if there is something wrong with me--something...really wrong?" He had seen how interested Dean had been in his well-being lately, and then there was what Vesta had said to him. And the fact that he didn't remember much of what happened afterward. He couldn't remember Jody getting off the table or when Dean came or how Vesta had died, exactly. He was able to put bits and pieces together, but it was something he was needing to do more and more often.

"You're just crapped out, man. You need some rest," Dean said. He offered a gentle smile and scratched absently above his ear.

"It's more than that Dean," Sam said, letting the words come out. "She practically said I was dead inside."

Dean sighed. "I don't know, man. It's probably the trials, okay? Probably some sort of a, you know, aftereffect. It's not like you're bouncing back from the flu here. I mean, you were glowing with freaking trial juice."

"I… I don't know." Sam said, feeling like Dean was feeding him reassurances.

"Well, what else could it be?"

"Why does it have to be something else? It's always something else. We're always scraping to find some other explanation when maybe it is... just me."

Dean realized the misstep he had taken in keeping secrets from Sam. "Oh come on, Sam."

"I'm a mess, Dean. You know it. And sometimes, I feel like maybe I'm never gonna actually be all right."

Dean made an inhuman whine and the sound made Sam wince. Maybe none of them would ever be all right ever again.

"Is this just… just the way I am? The way we are?" Sam said.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. He wanted to speak, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. 

Sam noticed him struggling. "Dean?"

He cleared his throat, finding them again as his brain latched onto his humanity. "Look, you're going to be all right. Just give it time. It's not you. It's me. I…"

Sam's eyes glowed blue as Ezekiel took control. "I wouldn't do that Dean."

"He deserves to know."

"Your brother will not make it. If he ejects me, he will die."

Dean crossed his arms. "How much longer, Zeke? How much longer do we have to keep playing this?"

"Not much longer. I can promise you that."

"Wait. Zeke?"

Ezekiel turned to face Dean and studied him. Humans were so strange. Did he not see how much more strategic it was for Sam to not know? It was safer this way. He could heal Sam and, for once, do something  _ right _ . Falling to Earth was his second chance. 

"What if I can convince him?"

Ezekiel shook his head sadly. "I don't see that happening."

And then eyes flashed blue again and Sam looked at Dean confused. Honestly, he didn't need to see that blue glow to catch when it was Sam or when it was Ezekiel. He knew Sam and when that icy, callous expression came across his face, it was so un-Samlike. 

"Dean? You were saying it wasn't me?"

He smiled sadly. "N-nothing. I meant that… if something  _ is _ wrong. It's… it's not your fault. We'll deal with it, Sammy. Have faith." The words he said tasted almost bitter. Faith. What a shitty thing to rely on in a world without heaven, a missing God, and angels at war with each other. 


	4. Regenerative Properties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, the monster in Cas's case isn't too obvious or outlandish, but there's a reason I picked it. You will see. And it will be glorious. I have lots of plans for this fic. Still don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine.

_ *** _

_ Scarborough, Virginia _

Lively's car was a gray 1996 Volvo 440, full of dents and scratches. Castiel was in the passenger's seat and shifted uncomfortably in the small vehicle. A grinding squeal accompanied every stop that the car made. He played with the seatbelt across his shoulder and chest.

Castiel was nervous. He knew that he wasn't the best at interacting with people. That when he and the Winchesters did any sort of hunts together, it was always one of them who carried the conversation while they attempted to get some information. 

Lively spoke to her passenger, "Hey, Cas."

"What is it?" 

"What are we doing exactly?" Lively asked. "I mean I have an inkling that you are on a case or a mission or whatever, but you don't seem to be exactly very, ahem,  _ good _ at it."

Castiel looked at her, bewildered.

"Observant, remember?"

He didn't relax, but stiffly admitted, "Yes. I'm on a case."

"Care to tell me about it?"

"Uh," Castiel looked at the car door and wished that he could just teleport out of there, disappear when he didn't know what to do. Right now, he wasn't sure how much he was supposed to be sharing. He had been stupid enough to trust Metatron.

Lively urged, "You can trust me, you know."

Castiel went for the leap of faith, even though he felt it would end badly. Perhaps he deserved for it to go badly. Haltingly, because he wasn't sure about sharing this information, he said, "When I was in the woods, I saw a blue fire and it was floating around. And it was affecting my phone, and talking to me. I thought… I thought that maybe it was a ghost and I didn't want it hurting or killing any more people."

"You said it was talking to you? What did it say?"

"Your response is not typical," the former-angel noted gruffly.

" _I'm_ not typical. Obviously. Two friggin' seconds with me would tell you that." She let out an impatient huff. "So, Cas, what did it say?"

All or nothing, Castiel thought. He continued to explain. "It kept asking if I was lost."

"So, you think it's a ghost?"

"Well, I want to find out. I have to." He furrowed his brow as he said that, focusing on the task at hand. He wondered if he truly felt he was duty-bound to do this or if he was using it as a distraction. 

"You ever hear of karma, Cas?"

"I have," Castiel answered and then defined, "It's the belief that all of your actions will have repercussions that affect your life." He was familiar with the beliefs of many people, having heard prayers and having lived among them.

"Is that why you're so nice? You hoping for your luck to turn?"

He looked confused at her words. "Shouldn't you be nice to be nice?"

She grinned. "Now, that's adorable."

\---

Lively parked the Volvo outside of the Winograd home. She played absently with her necklaces as the two of them studied the house. It was actually quite nice. It was a one-story, ranch-style home set in the suburbs of Scarborough. There was a small garden planted with bushes of yellow and red flowers. The home had huge windows, though the blinds were drawn shut. The roof was well-peaked, adding a storybook charm to the quaint house.

The pair of them started up the flagstone path to the front door. Castiel was about to knock, but stopped himself. His fist hovered an inch in front of the door. He lowered it.

"What's wrong?" Lively asked.

"When I was with Dean, he used an FBI badge. He's even made one for my personal use." Castiel pulled it out of his back pocket simply because he didn't have the inside pocket of his trench coat any longer. "He wore a suit. I wore a trench coat. And a tie."

"Uh, Cas," she held his wrist and forced him to put his badge away. "How about we put that away?" She laughed nervously. No comment on how illegal it was to impersonate a federal agent. Probably, by now, she just was rolling with the punches and had fully understood that Cas was just  _ weird. _

"Don't worry, you know how to deal with people. Even without fake badges."

Somehow Castiel didn't believe that. He wasn't really the best at being human. He was homeless for awhile. He killed. He had sex. He died. He was brought back to life. And he worked at a Gas-and-Sip. Somehow, that didn't seem like a list of  _successful human._

"Just be honest. You want to know more. You're doing it for a good reason."

Lively knocked on the door. She waited for several minutes before knocking again. Nobody came out to let them in or greet them.

"So, now what?"

"We wait."

A few more minutes and she snickered.

"What is it?"

"I can't imagine you wearing a trench coat and a tie."

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

Kevin hunched over the angel tablet, trying to see for himself if what Crowley had said--about the spell that kicked the angels out of heaven was true--and he couldn't find anything that said otherwise. Besides, reading the language gave him a headache and he wanted to rest his head. Sometimes, his research would lead him to look for something in the file room and he'd have to steel himself against Crowley's taunts. When he couldn't take it anymore, he had been trying to figure that out to trying to find the cure for the after-effects of the potion Dean took. He couldn't see a cure to that either and his hope that time would get rid of the effects seemed to have been nothing.

Hopeless. That was what all of this was. 

He lifted himself from the books sprawled around him on the large desk when he heard the Winchesters returning from their hunt. An excuse to take a break. Kevin stretched, feeling every vertebrae in his spine as he did so. He couldn't recall the last time he ate. Or drank. Or bathed. He separated himself from the research to greet them.

"Sam. Dean. Hey."

He was afraid of the question they would ask. It was inevitable.

"Any progress on the angel tablet?" Dean asked.

Yep, there it was. Kevin shrugged. "No."

"How about the cure for Dean?" This time, it was Sam's inquiry.

Again. The shrug. "No." Didn't they know how useless it made him feel? He sighed. He looked to Dean. "So, how are you feeling?"

He smiled. "Actually, ever since we finished the hunt and were on the road, I haven't been feeling it too badly. I feel pretty normal right now." He was being honest.

It recalled the moment last month when Dean licked his face. He, of course, was horrified and that was when he agreed that Kevin should go on  _ find the cure _ duty rather than strictly focus on the angel tablet. Kevin pulled a piece of paper from the table and then tossed it.

Dean watched it and didn't go after it. He seemed relaxed and normal. After a few more seconds, he looked up to Kevin, "Uh, you gonna get that?"

The prophet went over and picked it up.

"So, are you cured?" Sam asked.

"I guess," Dean said with a shrug.

"I wouldn't count on it," Kevin said as he readied the paper ball, aiming for the trash can. "You've done this before, where it didn't seem to affect you as much. After you hunted that  _ you-are-what-you-eat  _ chef, for example. And after this hunt?" He tossed the ball with a rather halfway decent shooting form, and it went in. "Yes, got it. Anyways, we'll have to wait and see what happens."

***

Castiel and Lively stood at the front door for nearly thirty minutes before it finally opened. A woman wielding a shotgun came out. Her face was weathered and there was a scowl imbedded on her face. Her blue-gray eyes looked permanently sad and almost colorless. Her hair was pulled back. Dark blonde hair that was dull and grayed with age and stress. This was Millie Winograd. "Who the hell are you? I swear I'll shoot you all to Hell." She pointed the gun to Lively.

"We just want to ask some questions," Lively said. Her eyes told Castiel to speak. He didn't until she cleared her throat and prodded him with her elbow. "Say something."

"When I was in the woods, something happened. I wanted to talk with Alan."

Miss Winograd lowered her gun. Her gaze was hard.

"I saw blue fire in the forest. I just want to… to know more."

Her mouth became a thin line at the words  _ blue fire _ . He could tell that she cared a lot about her brother. She was guarding him. She stepped away from the door and called into the house loudly. Her voice was husky from years of chain smoking. "Al! We got some visitors here for you."

"No more reporters," was the tired reply.

"They ain't reporters!"

Silence.

"Come in," Millie said, leading them into the home, which was nicely kept in the living and kitchen areas. "He's down there." She pointed down the hallway. And, once more, she warned, "Try anything and I'll shoot you."

The closer they got to Al's room, the more they saw clutter slowly building. Books and notes and strange tools and talismans stuffed in boxes pushed against the walls to leave a wide corridor. The door to his room was completely made of iron. Lively paused.

"Lively?" Castiel looked at her, with a questioning look in his eyes.

"You go on ahead. It's your case. I'm just a bit uncomfortable here. This is creeping me out."

He only nodded in understanding and then he pushed on the door. It creaked open and Castiel looked down to see a man in a wheelchair. It was Al and he faced away from the former angel, his eyes focused on his research. He glanced up at a mirror which had symbols etched around the frame. He saw Castiel and relaxed. Just a man. "Millie said you ain't a reporter. Where's the other one?"

"She just drove me up here." Castiel answered. "I'm the one with the questions. Uh, I'm Cas."

Al turned his chair around and looked at him. Uncomfortably, Castiel tucked his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes. The man's scrutiny was hard, intense. He had a thick beard and tugged on it thoughtfully. "So Cas, you have questions?"

"I was in the forest and followed some blue fire." Direct as always.

"Don't follow it, boy," Al warned. "I did and I was lost in the forest for two years without human contact. And wouldn't you know, the day I break my spine was the day I was found by the townspeople."

"You were found half a mile away from Ardent," Castiel said, remembering the article he had read.

"I grew up here, played in these woods all my life as a child and never once got lost. Yet, people think that I wandered two years in the woods when if I just went a straight line any direction for a few hours, I would have gotten out. The reporters made me out to look stupid. Whatever is in that wood, it changes the path."

Castiel looked at the room. Saw the weapons in it. Saw wards here. He knew what Al was and if he knew what Al was, that meant that he knew what was the monster in the woods. "Are you a hunter?"

Instead of pointing out the guns, the former-angel pointed out the wards.

Al seemed taken aback. "Yes. But I can hardly believe you're one. You don't seem experienced enough."

Castiel wasn't sure if he could call himself a hunter now. Because was he really? But, he couldn't tell the man he was an angel because he no longer was one. He was an experienced soldier but it seemed that hunters had other skills than hand to hand combat and sword skills. Instead of addressing it, he asked,  "What… what is the monster in the woods?"

"A type of fae," Al said. "That one is the Will-o'-the-Wisp. I thought I put up the wards there. To keep the it out."

"Wards?" Castiel asked. "Can you show me?"

Al took a piece of paper from his desk and drew out an image quickly. It was a simple, a circle and a triangle with a triquetra in the center. "My family carved them into the trees years ago. Wards the unholy spirits out, and that includes the fae. We also had iron nails driven. Here, here, and here." Al pointed at the points just outside of the triangle.

The man continued, "So, three years ago, someone cut down some of the trees, leaving an opening for one of the them, so I was down there to carve some more out and then that's when the 'Wisp got me. There's something irresistible about that fire. And it plays tricks on your mind and I let my guard down for a mere moment. And that, Cas, is why it's dangerous."

Castiel wondered why he was able to follow the fire and come back out within a day. "I didn't see any of this or the iron nails in the trees when I went in."

"Shit," Al said.

"So, put the wards back up and the Will-o'-the-Wisp is gone?"

"Yeah." Al frowned. "And I'm not exactly capable of doing it anymore." He wheeled his chair back and forth to make a point. "And Millie can't either."

"Why not?" Castiel looked confused.

"How I got out? She made a deal with the 'Wisp." Al said, absently. "She won't tell me what she did, so I suppose it was shameful, but the day she got me out was the day the 'Wisp paralyzed me. See, it didn't promise to give me back whole and able-bodied. In addition, we have something of a truce with the Fae. We don't hurt them; they don't hurt us." His eyes lit up. "But you ain't part of no deal. You can be our loophole and drive it out."

Before, when Cas thought the Will-o'-the-Wisp was a ghost, he simply wanted to help it find a place of rest. Now, he simply wanted to know what business it had here. If it was actually hostile.

"Cas," Al said, pulling something out of a drawer. It looked like a large stone bead and fit in the palm of his hand. "This is a self-bored stone. You can look through it to see through the guises of the fae."

He took it reluctantly. "Don't you need it?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "It's your hunt now."

"Other weaknesses?"

"Cold-wrought iron is about the only thing I've found that can kill them. Not just regular, old, run-of-the-mill iron. It has to be cold-wrought iron. They can be trapped by dropping salt or sugar. They're forced to count the grains."

\---

Lively smiled and sat on the living room couch. Millie prepared some tea. She brought it out. They sat in awkward, tangible, dangerous silence for several minutes before Lively finally spoke. "I noticed your garden in the front. Lovely flowers." Her words were stiff.

"St. John's Wort and Red Verbena," the woman said sharply while watching her guest. She stared at Lively's feet.

"I thought so." Lively was nervously tugging at one of her necklaces. She held it in her hand, stroking the embossed symbol upon it over and over again with her thumb. She prayerfully begged for Cas to finish up. She didn't expect him to be into this. She was just a wanderer, a drifter, and it seemed that her curiosity had led her into a part of something that she really hadn't wanted to be a part of.

"Repels the Fae," Millie said, almost spitting the words out. She sipped at her tea. The room was so quiet that the sound of the older woman gulping the liquid seemed even more conspicuous. "You gonna drink some tea?"

Lively shook her head. She could smell the herbs in it and didn't trust that Millie wasn't going to put something in it.

Millie frowned. "Shame."

Castiel came out of the room, moving smoothly and confidently. Now, he had a plan.

"And, he's done," Lively said clapping her hands together and standing up. "Time to go."

***

The King of Hell was a prisoner. He sat in the dark of the file room, hidden from view. In the silent loneliness, he would be aware of his emotions. What Sam had done to him, injecting him with blood, almost curing him of his status as a demon, it brought him to the very edge of humanity. Alone, without anybody watching, he felt safe enough to try to get in touch with his emotions. It was like fire in his blood. Painful, burning, but also purifying and raw and powerful. And necessary. He shut his eyes. He needed to take back his throne. Abaddon was going to ruin Hell with her chaotic rule.

The lights turned on. Someone was rifling through the files. "Kevin?" No answer. 

If it was Kevin, Crowley would have heard at least a harsh sigh. Some anger that the prophet could not hide because of the fact that his mother had been taken away from him. Crowley almost felt sorry for doing that. Taking Kevin's blood made him feel more sentimental lately. 

Another guess. "Moose?"

"Shut it, Crowley." It was Dean's voice. _Ah, Squirrel._

Crowley listened to him, a smile on his face. The King of Hell had always been rather good at reading people. Keep him in the same room with someone and he'd figure them out. He had been in the Bunker as a prisoner for weeks and waiting for his opportunity to escape. From his voice, Crowley could tell Dean was getting a bit desperate to find whatever he was looking for. He called out from his chair, barely able to move thanks to the cuffs and the collar and the devil's trap underneath him. "Whatever are you looking for?"

"I'm not falling for your crap."

Crowley sighed. "Have you ever thought to consider I may honestly want to offer my assistance?"

Dean snorted a laugh. "That's rich. Coming from the King of Hell."

Instead of continuing their banter, Dean just left. Crowley was alone again. The lights turned off. "Bullocks."

He stared into the darkness and sighed. He forgot how boring and difficult it was to be a prisoner.

***

_ Ardent, Virginia _

Castiel looked to Lively who seemed tense ever since going into the Winograd home. She hadn't even wanted to meet Al in his room. "So, what did Alan Winograd tell you?" she asked him.

"He said that if I put some sigils on the trees with iron nails, then the Will-o'-the-Wisp will go away."

"And will you do that?" Lively asked.

"I want to see if it actually wants to kill people, first."

"Really, why?"

Castiel shrugged. "Because I wouldn't want to banish something that was trying to make things right." He remembered the days when he'd smite demons just for being demons. Now he'd smite them for thinking that they'd hurt Dean and Sam--if he could smite them. In fact, he even worked with the demon Crowley when he decided to become God. And that didn't really work. Now, there was a war brewing in heaven and he was thinking of finding a way to quietly resolve things and he had been caught up in a case involving a monster that he and the Winchesters had never faced before. With a painful honesty, he added, "Don't we all deserve an opportunity for redemption?"

"When you put it that way," Lively said. "It sounds like you are running from something in the past. Was it someone you hurt?"

Castiel tilted his head. There was a faraway look in his eyes. "Someone. Everyone."

She frowned. "So it's just redemption you're looking for?"

"I can't discount that as a possible motivation, but I think I just want to be a good man."  _ Because I haven't been a good angel. _

"That's the best we can do, hon."

\---

The pair came back to the motel. Castiel started collecting up his supplies. Lively had gone into her own motel room and he hoped that she stayed there, out of danger. He didn't have any cold-wrought iron, but had his angel blade. Hopefully, it would work. It worked against everything else, in any case. 

He packed some salt into his pocket, remembering what Al said about the fae and salt and the compulsion to count the grains. Though he knew that his flashlight would be rather useless once he got closer to the Will-o'-the-Wisp, he picked it up anyways. And he also packed his cellphone. So far, the fae had been most comfortable talking through the device, but perhaps he'd get to meet him. He pulled the self-bored stone that Al had given him and pocketed it. It was then he realized, save for the stone, he was packed the same as the first time he left to go to the woods to meet the 'Wisp. Maybe he did have good hunter's instincts after all.

He headed out and found Lively leaning against the painted brick of the motel. She was dressed in her usual attire. Dark camisole, long and green patterned skirt, and her mousy brown hair was done up in a long braid down her back. Her many necklaces clinked together as she pushed herself forward to stand away from the wall. "So, I'm coming, right?" She stood in front of him.

"It's not safe," Castiel said, attempting to sidestep her. However, Lively maneuvered herself so that she could still block his path. He tried another direction and she again intercepted.

"Well, I could assume that, but I want to see this Will-'o-the-Wisp," she said. 

"No," he didn't move this time, choosing to wait for her to allow him to head out.

Lively remained fiercely in front of him and she studied his appearance. He seemed to always wear that forlorn expression, his intense eyes held sadness in them, and dark hair unkempt. The expression was equal parts war-torn soldier and child-like naivety. She had no idea how he could be both. She attempted to mirror it a little. She wished that she, even after the life she had lived, could look at the world with wide-eyed wonder. Finally, she stepped aside, though she didn't believe he could handle a Will-o'-the-Wisp without her.

Castiel started down the road, towards the forest. Moving at a brisk, even pace.

"Cas."

"Don't follow me," he stated without looking back. "I have to do this alone."

She tilted her head and watched him break into a jog. She stood there, her gaze lingering on his figure at the end of the road growing smaller and smaller when she realized something: He hadn't been limping all day. 

***

Sam moved quickly down the hall, passing Kevin once. What Vesta had told him in their last case stuck in his brain. He was broken. He was, as she stated, all duct tape and safety pins. There were other instances, where monsters asked him what he was. It made him uncomfortable. And then there was the lost time. He headed to the dungeon, where they kept Crowley. He wanted to ask him something.  _ Is there something wrong with me? _

Ezekiel took over and made him walk back to his bedroom, where he passed Kevin. The young man was wandering the halls, brushing his teeth. Life with his nose in ancient texts had long created an aversion to sitting still. 

"Sam?"

Ezekiel let Sam have the reigns again. He didn't yet trust himself to be Sam without raising suspicions to Kevin. The younger Winchester looked confused as he glanced around in the hall before he looked down at the prophet. "Kevin? Didn't I just pass you?"

He took the toothbrush out of his mouth. "Uh yeah. What are you doing?"

"I was…" Sam's eyebrows drew together as he concentrated. He remembered what he was doing and then knew that he didn't want Kevin to worry about him. The poor kid had enough to worry about. "I needed a walk."

Kevin continued down the hall, heading to the bathroom. His eyes watched Sam, trying to figure out what, exactly, was wrong with him.

_ I'm trying to help,  _ Ezekiel reasoned.  _ I just want to do things right this time.  _ He was just wanted redemption.


	5. Accommodation Reflex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of excitement last chapter. Am I right? Wait til you see this one, loves. The name Caoimhe is pronounced "Kwee-vuh." This is a pretty Cas-centric chapter.

***

_ Ardent, Virginia _

Castiel was in the forest now. It wasn't dark enough to use his flashlight just yet and he had his angel blade tucked up the sleeve of his hoodie. He moved between the trees, waiting for the Will-o'-the-Wisp to show itself. Every one of his movements could be heard in the subtle crunch of the detritus of the forest.

He wandered in the woods for hours and grew thirsty. He realized he didn't have any water on him. It was sometimes hard to remember to bring essentials like that in new situations. He had had thousands of years not needing such trivial provisions and now that he was in a human body, he suffered for his forgetfulness.

He paused to rest, squatting down. Then, he felt something hit him in the back and it caused him to lurch forward. He turned his head, looked around and saw the water bottle laying on the ground. He pulled out the stone and put his eye to the self-bored hole, glancing around to see if there was anything odd waiting in the woods. Any changes or trickery. He saw none, but could now feel a presence hiding in the woods with him.

He picked up the water bottle. He wanted to resist it until he was sure it wasn't poisoned, but the thirst he was feeling made it hard to. Instead, he uncapped it and guzzled it down greedily. Now that he was human, he could appreciate just how deprivation made water taste better. Food, too. He remembered going dumpster diving when he was still not very good at being human. And then, he ended up having sex with a reaper.

Fun times. And the memory coaxed a smile on his face. Even if it did end in him being tortured to death.

He looked around, trying to pinpoint where the drink had come from. "I appreciate the water," he said. "Whoever you are."

He knew it wasn't an angel watching over him. He hadn't prayed and none of them watched the toils of humans as closely as he had watched over Dean when they still had heaven and he still had his wings. He briefly thought of the threat of war. He knew it was coming and that the angels had more pressing things to worry about than whether or not a man was thirsty.

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

Dean was in the library again. He glanced up at Kevin who sat across from him. "Got news on the Angel Tablet?"

"No," Kevin said.

Dean sighed as he worked through a book, trying to research more about angelic possession. To see if Ezekiel had lied about anything so far. He turned a page idly, eyes searching for an answer. 

He had been looking for answers in the file room, but it was close to the dungeon they had been keeping Crowley in. He hated listening to that demon heckle him. The best way to prevent Crowley from tricking him was to not listen to him. That son of a bitch was clever and manipulative.

After yet another paragraph describing demonic possession--not angelic possession--Dean shut the book and leaned back.

Kevin's eyes scanned the book. It was in Latin. "Possession?" Just from his tone of voice, Dean hear the unspoken question:  _ What does possession have to do with fixing heaven? _

"Just reading up on Angelic Possession." Dean frowned. "Except that it's pretty limited. These damn Men of Letters cared more about Demonic shit."

"Well, what about Castiel?" Kevin asked. "Is there a way to get into contact with him?"

Dean shut his eyes and groaned. Of course he knew that. But at this point in time, the last person that he wanted to call upon for help was Castiel. It wasn't just because Dean felt guilty for kicking him out. Dean told himself that he didn't want to call the angel because he wanted him safe, happy, and, if he was going to do the human thing, he wasn't going to do it as a hunter.

_ Keep him out of it. Keep him safe. _

***

Hunting and being in the thick of danger was exactly what Castiel was doing.

He still wore his hoodie despite the heat. Sweat ran down his face from exertion. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, feeling his growing beard against it. Shaving was also something he had to remember to do. His vessel was no longer static. His body changed constantly now. He still had his sharp sense of time, though.  He had given the 'Wisp ample time to come out; it had been hours and there was still daylight left. Summer let the days linger well into the evening.

At 7:30, it was time for Plan B. He pulled out his angel blade from his sleeve and brought himself close to a tree. Carefully, he started carving out a crude symbol--the one which Al had taught him.

He didn't even get to finish it when the phone rang briskly. Castiel looked at the screen, but all he saw was that the phone was malfunctioning. He put the phone to his ear and heard a whisper hissing out.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting up wards." Castiel pinned the phone to his shoulder with his ear as he continued carving the shape into the trees.

"Stop it." The voice was not on the phone. Now, the phone was off and the voice came from somewhere in the woods.

And then the blue flame hovered closer and closer, darting between and trees, taking a meandering route through the forest as it neared the former angel. Castiel took out the salt and poured it in a pile on the leaf litter so that it made a small mound. The fire hovered close to it, almost to the ground, and Castiel took the self-bored stone from his pocket and put his eye through the hole in the stone. At first he didn't see anything until he closed his other eye. And then, he saw the creature as it truly was.

He saw a fair-haired boy wearing a soft, expression, quietly mumbling as he counted the grains of salt compulsively. He wore a tunic and tight pants. The blue fire of the Will-o'-the-Wisp flame was actually his lantern, attached to a long stick by a short chain, so that it swayed as he moved, but now, it was nothing more than a small glass cage around a tender flame.

"I… just wanted to talk." Castiel lowered the stone and then saw nothing except the familiar fireball. He put the stone back up to his eye. He still needed it. He was hoping that seeing the truth would mean he wouldn't need to hold the stone up.

The boy canted his head towards Castiel, though his eyes remained trapped on the grains of salt, still counting. "You said your name was Castiel?" He asked. "It's not a common name. I suppose your parents were religious. You know, it's the same one as the angel of Thursday." There was a sing-song rhythm to the way the boy spoke. And something ageless and ancient to it as well. "Today is Thursday. I suppose, Castiel, that today is not your day."

Those words were oddly reminiscent. 

"I thought I could trust you, as you were honest to me. Giving me your name. And telling me about how you want to fix the problem you made."

"You can trust me..." Cas said. 

"Oh, and why ought I to trust you, Castiel?"

"I have not done anything to you yet."

"Now, are you to be talking like one of the Fair Folk--my folk?" He said with a grin. "Loopholes and truths unsaid more than honesty. For trust, I require proof. For proof: Removal of that lil' thing you've gone and carved, yes?"

Castiel touched his angel blade against the beginning of what he had carved into the tree. He sliced through the ward he had started. "Fine. It's done. Now, I just want to know if you were planning to hurt people."

The Will-o'-the-Wisp smiled. "I am nary but a feckless Fae. My law is simple. Offer me honesty and honor and yea, I shall not do any undue harm to you. But for a single transgression, I shall do that which I must. But I shall not forever touch a splendid soul to snuff it out. There is more fun to gain by watching them wither as they wander."

Castiel tilted his head.

"I brought you back out of the woods, remember?"

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to see what happened next and you had yet to bring my ire upon you. See the story unfold, if you will."

Castiel looked confused and he lowered the blade he had drawn towards the fae, keeping his left hand on the stone held to his eye. "So you won't hurt anybody?"

"No," the 'Wisp said, as he continued counting the grains of salt.

And then Castiel heard someone behind him cock a gun.

"I won't, but mayhaps, she will, laddie."

He turned around and saw Millie, her gun drawn to him. This time, it was just a revolver instead of the shotgun.

"Sorry," the woman said. And Castiel remembered Al's words. About his sister seemingly ashamed for something she had done. She had given herself to this creature, to do his bidding. 

And Castiel could not stand for that. He had fought hard to understand the importance of free will. He had a rich and complicated relationship with a man named Dean Winchester. A profound bond that had taught him enough about humanity to make him understand how and why the Winchesters could wake up every day to hunt things. But now, he was in a bind. He didn't want to die yet.

"Millie, do not kill the poor boy just yet. It feels good to dance when you've won, yes?" 

The woman kept her finger on the trigger. Nothing moved or changed, except the tension was lessened a little bit. "Drop your knife."

Castiel released his grip, letting his angel blade fall to the ground.

The Will-o'-the-Wisp went over to the knife and tentatively reached for it, as if afraid the mere touch of it might burn him. When he found that it didn't, he picked it up and laughed in glee. "You think that this would kill me? 'Tis nothing but a plaything." 

He sliced at Castiel, cutting him through his hoodie and shirt to leave a shallow laceration on his side. Immediately, the former angel put a hand on his wound, to try to staunch the bleeding somewhat. Again, he was sorely missing his angelic powers because the slash hurt. 

The 'Wisp expertly flipped and caught Castiel's weapon in a one-handed juggle. "So, the brother Winograd told you of the ward, and the salt, and the self-bored stone, but not that cold-wrought iron is deadly to the Fae? This silly old thing doesn't even make me itchy. No iron in it at all?" He tossed it casually over his shoulder, letting it hit the ground.

"Millie? You may do me the honors, my sweet." Millie Winograd looked to Castiel, her expression was of apology and duty. She raised her revolver at Castiel.

"You do not have to do this," the former-angel said.

She looked sadly at him, "But I do." Her will had been wrested from her. She tried so hard to resist. Cas could see it. He could remember when he had to resist such an enormous force in his own mind when he had been sent to kill Dean, his thoughts hacked and manipulated by Naomi. 

"I forgive you," Cas said. He stared down the revolver, watching Millie's lined face, her grayed hair frizzed from the humidity. But mostly he saw the pain in her eyes. He was familiar with it: Regret. If only he could take away all the bad decisions he had made.

"No, you don't get to say that to me," she said quietly. "I don't deserve it."

And then, the sound of singing interrupted the tense moment.  It was a beautiful, otherworldly sound in an old language. Roughly translated:  _ Come here, weary traveler. Oh, won't you come? To the river's edge and sing the river's song.  _

Like a siren's call, it beckoned him. His hand dropped so that his stone was at his side, still grasped in a tight fist. He must not lose it. He felt his feet take one step and then another. Millie turned around and he saw her back as she walked in the direction that the voice was coming from--which also had her moving towards the 'Wisp.

"You  _ will  _ stop moving," the Will-o'-the-Wisp said firmly to the older woman. Millie's feet wanted to move, but she was forced to hold still. Her face looked pained. The song stopped.

And Castiel found that he stopped, too.

"Caoimhe," the Will-o'-the-Wisp knew the name of the other creature, yet unseen. His eyes were still stuck on the pile, trying to finish counting. Only a couple hundred left to go. So close. He stuck his finger on the pile to shift the grains. "Didn't you leave Avalon to go play at being human?"

Cas looked again through the self-bored stone, to see this Caoimhe, his other eye shut. A creature had come out of the wood from behind the Will-o'-the-Wisp. She wore a green, hooded cloak, with the hood well over her face, obscuring it. It was trimmed in gold. She smiled as she stepped forward. Rather than feet, cloven hooves touched delicately on the leaf litter that her foot falls were silent.

The hooded figure said nothing. She had the angel blade in her hands, her hooves sank through the leaf litter. She brandished the weapon, moving closer and closer to Castiel, whose heart was beating quickly.  _ I don't want to die, _ was the only thought that whirred through his head at that moment. He had too much he wanted to do.

But then, Caoimhe lowered her body outstretching her arms, with the angel blade balanced between her two palm-up hands. Castiel saw that her fair skin was tinged gray. She let her head drop to show that she meant him no harm. Tentatively, he went forward and took the blade in his hand.

As soon as he picked it up, Caoimhe stood proudly and lowered her hood, revealing hair like spun gold. Dark blonde, but rich and warm in hue. She had a strange elegance to her. Her beauty was something feral and intense. It was in her dark eyes, something wise and sharp. Even in the way she held her mouth at rest was a touch of the predatory. She smiled and revealed sharp canines. However, in her expression, she seemed familiar to Castiel.

However, he couldn't dwell on that because the 'Wisp had finished counting his pile of salt and he disappeared, teleporting to a more strategic position. Castiel looked to Millie, who still could not move. She had a helpless expression on her face.

***

Kevin was working on the tablet. Though Crowley had said that the spell that pushed the angels out of heaven was irreversible, Dean and Sam were adamant that The King of Hell was lying and the only way for anyone to figure out what was true was for the young prophet to figure it out on his own. He had books, open on their spines around him at the table. He took notes on paper, jotting a few ideas down.

He sighed. It would be easier if it felt like he wasn't alone in this. There was something between Sam and Dean. And all Kevin had were small clues and he knew if he saw them in front of him, he might be able to piece what was going on. Because he was making no progress on the tablet, he tore the notes he had taken from the pad and started on a fresh piece of paper. 

The heading was:  _ Sam and Dean are Being Stupid.  _

Perfect start. 

Before all of this shit happened, he was the model student. Advanced Placement. Played the cello. When was the last time he played the cello? That was before demons and angels and the whole prophet gig. 

He cradled his head in his hands, letting his fingers muss up his hair. He looked like a zombie anyways with the bags under his eyes. He groaned. His mother was out there, somewhere, but still, he was worried about the Winchesters. 

He was aware of the tenseness between the two. Lies and worry. Deceit and repressed feelings. He frowned and touched the pen to a new line, letting the ink blot before he decided where to start.

And then he started writing everything he knew, even the things that the Winchesters had tried to hide, but he knew the clues.

Sam was always tired. It was in the way he spaced out or dozed off or went on autopilot. And he was losing time. And he tried to hide it, but the way he'd frown and his forehead seemed to get the little lines when he frowned.

Dean was doing things like researching angelic possession while trying to resist the urge to pee on the walls of the bunker. He insisted that Sam's condition was due to the trials. But Kevin thought that that was weird. The Dean he knew would have needled and pressed for answers and cures and…

Kevin stopped writing notes on the paper as it hit him.  _ It was Dean. He did something to Sam. _

***

The 'Wisp hit Caoimhe hard. She was knocked off of her feet and pushed to the ground. Castiel watched as she tumbled. The Will-o'-the-Wisp pinned her down, though it was obvious that he had to use most of his strength to hold her. The former angel raised his weapon and approached the two battling Fae. 

"Get off of her," Cas said. His gruff voice sounded dark with his threat.

"Your silly blade can do no harm unto me, human squirm." The 'Wisp laughed. He clasped a hand over Caoimhe's mouth to prevent her from saying anything or singing her luring song.

Caoimhe's dark eyes flashed with hatred as she thrashed underneath her adversary. She kicked the leaf litter up with her hooved feet. 

"Millie, be a dear and shoot the Glaistig." 

And the hunter raised her revolver, her eyes wide in panic. If she shot Caoimhe, then the truce would be broken and she would have to suffer for breaking her part of the contract. 

Not knowing what else to do, Castiel ran his blade through the Will-o'-the-Wisp's chest. At first the boy-like creature laughed, but then he spurted out blood. His grip on Caoimhe was weakened enough for her to overpower him and get away. 

Millie dropped her weapon and collapsed to the ground. Her breath came out in a shudder. She had been so close to ruining everything.

"Why? Why am I dying?" The 'Wisp put his hands to his chest, the blade still in. The metal itself didn't hurt him, but he could feel his body fading quickly. Being shot at never hurt him. Being exploded and burned and stabbed by anything that wasn't cold-wrought iron had never hurt him before. Why could he feel his life leaving him now? He looked at the weapon hilt-deep in his body.

"You said it wouldn't kill you," Castiel said, confused. He put his free hand on the creature, trying to summon his healing abilities, but he couldn't do that without his Grace.

The Will-o'-the-Wisp laughed and said, "I didn't think it could."

Castiel shut his eyes. "Can you save him?" he asked Caoimhe. "He's dying."

She stood quietly, not saying a single world.

He gruffly said in a way he was sure she'd understand, "You owe me." When she didn't move, he repeated, more sternly. "You owe me!"

She moved closer to Castiel, her cloak and golden hair covered in the detritus of the forest. "First, hon, I'll need something from you," she said in a low whisper. She then put her mouth on his neck. Her breath warmed his skin and he felt her sharp teeth puncture him. He flinched at the pain and felt the suction of her drinking deeply from his blood. And then, he blacked out.

***

Kevin focused his research somewhere other than fixing heaven and Dean's mind-meld potion problem. He was trying to find a way to help Sam stay in control and he knew that the strange moments when Sam seemed disoriented and confused were moments when the angel took over. The fact that Sam had an anti-possession tattoo ruled out demon, as was the fact that Dean, even in desperation would never have allowed a demon into his brother.

Now that Kevin was confident that he had figured out what had happened, he knew that, if he wanted the brothers' cooperation, he'd need an answer before he confronted them. 

\---

Two brothers walking outside. Sam followed after Dean, who had taken to nightly strolls. Silence between them. Awkward and heavy. It was as if they could both feel the wedge that had been placed between them.

"Why do you keep following me, Sammy?" Dean asked. His voice sounded rough and deep. He moved by the river, the powerplant that the Bunker was built under loomed behind them both. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the river, watching it skip across the surface. He didn't deserve his brother worrying about him.

"I don't know. I feel like, I should. To make sure you don't roll in poop."

"I'm  _ fine _ ," Dean said. Two words which have been repeated so often that, by now, they were almost a mantra. He almost convinced himself that it was true. That he was fine.

Sam crossed his arms, eyes focused on Dean, trying to squeeze an answer out of him. Trying to decipher the enigma that had been his brother refusing to admit that anything was wrong with him. 

"I'm fine," he repeated again. He looked up at Sam.

The right corner of Sam's mouth pulled upward, but his gaze remained hard and focused. "I don't believe you." 

His stare affected Dean so much more now that he was struggling with canine instincts. There was power in eye-contact. And finally, Dean couldn't take it. "What do you want me to say, Sammy? That I have had the urge to pee on every bush from the bunker to all the way here?" he gestured to the bushes around himself.  He wasn't done. He had so much to say. "That before bed every night, I have to pace in goddamn circles before I can even sleep. That I hate it when you look at me when I eat because it makes me feel like an animal how damn anxious I get. But you know what Sammy? This doesn't friggin' hurt me. In fact, remember  _ Hartford? _ You found me because I could  _ smell _ we were in a barn. And if I had just listened to my instincts before, we would have ganked Vesta long before we got--"

"You knew what she was?"

"She smelled like fire and I was more worried about making sure you didn't think anything was wrong with me to mention that useful fact. But I kept doubting myself. Doubting everything. Just, let's stop trying to fix me until we can fix me. Because this half-measure thing where I just try to not do anything to weird you out is a son-of-a-bitch and just makes it harder." He snorted and turned his face away, but kept his eyes on Sam with a sidelong glance. 

Sam's expression was so easy to read. His soulful eyes were full of empathy, almost pity for his brother. "Look, we're trying--"

"Remember when it was okay? In Enid. Nothing bad happened. You let me stick my head out the window. And it didn't mess anything up. Just a small thing and it's... "

"So what? I'm supposed to treat you like a dog?" Sam asked.

"No. Just don't be so friggin' judgmental if I slip up."

"I'll try not to be." 

"You better not," Dean said. "You know, I'm going to still try. Just… don't expect me to get better anymore. This is not gonna kill me, Sammy. We need to focus on angel stuff. Not me."

"I get it, okay?" He offered an easy, lopsided smile, though it was still full of concern. He didn't want to give up. But he was tired. It wasn't like he was exhausted, more like it was an effort to stand here, by the riverside, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong with him.

Dean picked up another riverstone. "Remember when we were kids, when Dad took us to the lake to just be kids? He taught us how to skip stones?"

Sam walked up to his brother, so that they were both facing the water, almost standing shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah." He picked up a rock just like his older brother did and tossed it expertly, though it didn't go as far as Dean's. The trials had worn him down. His strength was being shared between two: Himself and the angel who possessed him.

"Three times? Losing your touch, Sammy?"

They could count how often the stones bounced in the moon's reflection in the slow-moving part of the river. All that both brothers could think was that at least they could still have moments like this. 

"Let me show you how it's done." Dean picked up a rock. "You have to find a good rock like this one. Flat and round and not too heavy, but not too light." He got into the throwing position. "It's all in the wrist, remember?" Then, he threw a rock, but it landed with a bad angle on the water and sank into it immediately. "Son of a bitch."

Sam laughed. And Dean glowered at his brother.

"C'mon, it's funny, admit it."

Dean's face relaxed. "Okay, yeah; it's funny."

 

***

 

Lively sat on the floor next to Castiel's bed, where the former-angel was still recovering from getting some of his blood drained. She touched his neck tenderly, where the wound had scabbed over and was healing nicely. She looked out of the window. It was late at night, so late that in an hour or two, morning would brighten the sky.

He had mumbled in his sleep and fidgeted. She had taken off his maroon sweatshirt. At least she didn't have to worry too badly about the blood staining it. His messy hair looked like a tangle on his head. She looked again at the scab on his neck. Once he was awake and ready, she had questions. So many questions.

In another thirty minutes, Castiel woke up to her familiar gray eyes, ash-brown hair, and the necklaces that clinked together as she moved. He rolled away, his head was spinning and he had a splitting headache. It took a few minutes before he got his bearings.

"Hon, are you okay?" Lively asked, standing up.

Castiel attempted to stand up, but collapsed back into the bed. 

"Take your time." Lively held out a bottle of water. "Here, take this." She sloshed the water about.

He reached for it, realizing only now how dry his mouth and lips felt. He unscrewed the cap and drank the water greedily. Water spilled on his growing beard. He'd need to shave again, eventually. It had been awhile since the last shave. He glanced up at Lively. His eyes were vivid, though his mind was still foggy.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes." Castiel remembered what happened before he blacked out. He sat up, and touched his neck, where he had been bitten. Caoimhe had promised to heal the Will-o'-the-Wisp. Uncertainly, he looked to Lively and addressed her with the name of the Fae, "Caoimhe?"

She visibly shuddered. "Please, never call me that again. That name was in a past life. Besides, every time people hear Caoimhe, they think of Queef."

"Queef?"

"Never mind," Lively said. "But it's Lively,  _ please. _ "

"Did you heal him?" the former angel asked.

She sighed. "Yes." She tilted her head. "Why do you care so much about him?"

"He was defending his home. Wasn't he?" Castiel leaned forward, feeling more comfortable. "He shouldn't have to die for doing that." He thought of the angels and how they were lost and confused and fighting each other. The ash shadow of broken wings behind them, and some their wings had all burnt up completely and there was no trace of what they used to be. Fighting for heaven, which no longer existed.

"What are you?"

"I'm a man. Nothing more."

"And this is an Angel Blade," Lively stated, picking up the triple-edged dagger that Castiel had used on the 'Wisp. She held it carefully, slightly afraid of it, as it was actually able to kill her. She set it back down. "It's not exactly something humans find in their travels and then there is the fact that you can stay so calm despite what's happened in the forest. And your empathy is not characteristic of a hunter. So, Cas, again: What are you." Not a question, a demand. Lively was curious.

"I was an angel of the Lord, once." He thought back to the days when he was a simple soldier, following his orders, and so sure of his mission. Things have gotten more complicated now that he was an agent of his own free will. "Now I am no angel; my grace was taken from me. I am a man, nothing more."

She smiled and laughed. "Hon, you think an angel without grace is just a man?" 

"But I don't have my powers. I can't fly or heal or smite or..."

Lively interrupted him, "Have there been any other angels without their grace?"

And then, Castiel's eyes widened when a single name was stirred up from the mire of his mind.  _ Anna Milton _ . He knew that she possessed abilities without her grace which would be impossible for humans. 

He could remember her as his superior in the garrison. She had been a fiercely independent angel. Then, he didn't understand her infatuation with free will and the human race. Now, he did. He absolutely did.

"It was a different circumstance--she gave up her grace. Mine was stolen."

Lively grinned. "So, was she human?"

"Not exactly," Castiel admitted. "Perhaps I should investigate further."


	6. Signalling Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest one to write yet. Not because it is particularly bad or anything, but simply because it was a challenge to write. I wanted to include a lot of ideas in this chapter and it went through several drafts. I'll stop touching it for awhile.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying the story as much as I enjoy writing it.

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

That moment by the riverside a few nights ago did little to repair the rift that had been ever growing between Dean and Sam for the past few months. A rift caused by deceit and lies and each brother's obsession with trying to shoulder their burden in order to help the other. Things were still strange between them. But Sam was trying. Dean was trying.

Sam had the keys to the Impala in his hands as he was headed out of the bunker.

"Where you headed?" Dean asked. He lifted his head, his green eyes intent on his taller brother. 

"Supply run," Sam said.

"I'm coming with," Dean said as he pulled on his military coat. 

Sam paused. "Do you want me to drive or…?" He remembered what had been exchanged between them the other night. He wanted to know if Dean wanted to be the passenger so he could stick his head out of the window, but didn't want to ask the question. 

Thankfully, Dean saved him from needing to accept the request of  _ stop being judgmental _ when he said, "Of course I want to drive Baby."

Sam sighed. Though he said he'd try, he wasn't exactly ready to admit defeat just yet.

\---

Kevin knew that this was stupid. Beyond stupid, but he needed more answers. He pushed his way into where Crowley was imprisoned. 

The King of Hell smirked when he saw the young prophet. He remembered feeling the boy's blood in his veins. It took him to the very edge of being human. Emotions. Feelings. But it also was his best way of escaping these chains.

Kevin gulped under the demon's impassive stare.

Trying to be nonchalant, Crowley said, "Oh Kevin, it has been awhile. And here I thought you simply forgot all about me." His accented voice was deep and oily. 

The King of Hell was met with an intense glare from the young man. Hatred, pure and simple. There was a reason why the prophet had come out to meet him. 

"When Sam and I came in here the last time…"

"It's been too long," Crowley interrupted.

Kevin cleared his throat and started again, "When we came in here the last time to ask you a question."

"About the irreversible spell, get on with it! I haven't got all day." He smiled. "Oh wait, I do." He relaxed as much as he could with the collar around his neck. "But you don't. Now, I don't think that the boys wanted you interrogating me on your lonesome. Otherwise, one of them would be here." He was feeling the leverage he had and wanting to milk it as much as he could. He might be able to get something in return.

Kevin narrowed his eyes and finally got to the question, "Did you notice anything about Sam?"

Crowley shrugged. "I might have noticed something; I might not have."

"What is it, Crowley," Kevin slammed his hands down on the table, but the King of Hell didn't even flinch. "Did you or didn't you?"

The boy was not threatening at all; he was inexperienced at this interrogation thing. It was almost adorable. "Perhaps I'd be more  _ receptive _ to share if we had a deal.  _ Quid pro quo _ and all that." His husky voice was like smoke.

"And what do you want?"

Crowley smiled. "Your blood." 

\---

Dean parked the car in front of a convenience store near a park. Sam glanced out of the passenger's window, watching a man playing fetch with a dog in the grassy area near the playground. The dog was a Border Collie and had a manic obsession with the ball. The animal would go after it, wanton in its reckless abandon, nearly grinding its face into the grass when the ball skittered at an odd angle. Once the dog grabbed the ball, it'd make a beeline back to his owner, who'd take the ball and he heard the shrilly bark of an overexcited dog, begging for the next throw.  _That will not be Dean._

Sam's attention was brought back to earth when Dean asked from outside the Impala, "Hey, space cadet, you coming?" 

"Uh, yeah." He moved out of the vehicle and followed his brother into the store.

Dean was quickly going over the things on the list and picking things up.

"So, you're acting normal," Sam said. "Like, I thought for sure that you'd be all about that ball and that dog."

Dean stiffened up when Sam spoke. He explained, sounding slightly jealous. "It's the dog's ball. Not mine."

"And?"

"Possession is 9/10s the law." Dean said with a shrug. "Some just turn into douchebags about what is theirs."

Sam recalled the pudding cup incident right before Jody had called them up about the Hartford case with Vesta. Dean had growled at him for even daring to take that piece of plastic away from him. And then there was the time that Dean had chewed up his wallet. Though, that time, there hadn't been a growl, only a cold, hard, threatening stare.

"So, I take it you are one of the ones who turns into a douchebag?" Sam said with a laugh. He was attempting humor, but also trying to understand his brother a bit more.

Dean merely grumbled as he tossed a couple of cheap pies into the shopping basket.

It wasn't working.

Finally, he sighed and said. "Let's talk about you, Sammy." It felt almost unfair. He had opened up. Why couldn't Sam do the same? He knew that Sam must be feeling different, being possessed by an entity at different times. Then there were the comments that the monsters had made about him.

"Me?"

"Who else? How you holding up?"  _ Please Sammy, say anything. Say you need me. _

"I'm fine, Dean."

_ Dammit, Sam. _

\---

Kevin drew a vial of his own blood from his arm. He had healed since the last time he had done this for Crowley, though last time, the reasoning behind it was due to the fact that he needed blood to make a call down to Hell. Nobody had helped him then. Kevin didn't see how it would help him now. The young prophet kept quiet, not knowing if he could actually handle interrogating him. He was angry about everything that Crowley had done. But most of all, for killing his mother.

Crowley leaned forward ever so slightly. 

Kevin looked uncomfortable under Crowley's scrutiny. He put the syringe on the table, out of Crowley's reach. "Now talk." He kept his words terse.

"Samantha  _ should _ be dead. There, I talked."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that he's a shambles. Trying to close up Hell tends to have that effect on people."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because I've always held up  _ my _ end of any deal," he replied pointedly, eyes drifting to the syringe on the table, just out of reach.

Kevin's mouth twitched in a frown as he rolled the syringe so that it was within Crowley's reach. The demon snatched it greedily. Kevin watched as Crowley put it in his hands, his eyes subtly alight with hunger. And then he cooled himself enough to restore his normal smug expression.

The young prophet knew he saw something stir in Crowley's eyes. A moment where his emotions revealed relief and desire. And then, he restored his normal expression: Cool and smug. "Are you… addicted to human blood?" Kevin asked.

Crowley's face didn't change or betray anything. Rather than answer the question, he said darkly, "I see you're still palling around with Moose and Squirrel. You'll either die or be tossed away like the other members of their riffraff. I can list off the names if you prefer."

Kevin huffed, wanting so bad to break Crowley's face with his fist. Instead he clenched his hands, shaking with rage at either side of him, and turned around before he made a bad decision. He had killed his mom. 

"She's alive and well, you know." Crowley said in his cultured voice. He looked at Kevin as if whether or not his mother was alive was of no importance to him.

Angry, Kevin left and shut him alone in the dungeon. 

"Charming," the demon said in the dark.

Crowley pushed the needle into his arm once he was sure he was alone. Blood made him closer to human. He shut his eyes and sighed as he felt that little bit of human blood coursing through his veins. It weakened his power, but he found it wore off if he went too long between doses. However, if he played his cards right, he knew he could squeeze some more doses out of Kevin.

***

_ Ardent, Virginia _

Castiel was shirtless. His body was thin and ribby, now. He had definitely seen better days. He looked at his side, where he had been slashed by the Will-o'-the-Wisp. The wound wasn't completely healed, but it was a dried scab that was already flaking away to a pink scar. It had been a little less than a day since he had sustained the injury. He scratched at his itchy neck, where Lively had sucked his blood.

"The process of healing takes so much time," he commented grimly. 

His feet had healed completely, no more blisters.

From across the room, Lively tilted her head. "You do realize that you are healing a lot faster than you should be?"

The former-angel glanced over to her. "I am?"

"No shit, Sherlock," she said, playing idly with her many necklaces. "I'm gonna tally that under the whole 'you are not human' thing we were discussing earlier."

"Then what am I?"

She merely shrugged. "There are a lot of monsters that play fast and loose with the definitions of what they are and become something else. You know, many of the self-named gods and goddesses started as something else entirely."

Cas thought of his brother, Gabriel, who took on the persona as the Norse god of mischief, Loki. And then, that time he took in the souls from Purgatory and claimed that he was God. He had been stupid.

"What's up?" Lively asked, seeing his change in body language. There was touch of shame in his face and in the way he held his shoulders. 

"Nothing," Castiel lied. 

Lively raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything. Cas was a terrible liar, but she understood when people needed room to breathe. She had lived centuries, just the same as Castiel had. The only difference was that he had lived all of those years with his head in the clouds and she had lived them toiling with the people of the earth. A creature among them, trying to blend in. You learn a thing or two.

Castiel put his shirt back on, buttoning all the way up to the top button. He thought to himself how the rawness of his emotions were inconvenient. He kept thinking about Sam's kind expression and attitude which was equal parts staid and tender, and also the shape of Dean's lips and the dusting of freckles on his face. He didn't deserve either of them.

"When you're healed, we should head out."

Castiel nodded in agreement. "There are things I have to do, too."

"Angel stuff?" Lively guessed.

"Yes. 'Angel stuff' is what it  _ could _ be called." He grumbled. She had made it seem so insignificant that heaven was broken and God was missing.

"Sassa-Cas," Lively whispered like she was saying Sassafras, except the last syllable was  _ Cas _ .

"What?"

Lively only grinned.

***

Kevin was back on his duty of translating the tablet. And it was frustrating, fruitless work. He somehow was still motivated enough to try. Perhaps, he felt a little guilty for going off and doing something which was explicitly not Angel Tablet related. At least, when he was face to face with Crowley, he felt like he was doing something and progress was being made. Except, it was a mission he had to keep from Sam and Dean. Secrets and lies, he couldn't confront them about it until he had more solid evidence to go on.

He touched the mark on his arm where he drew his own blood. If you had asked him to do such a thing a year ago, he wouldn't have been able to. He would have blanched at the thought of it, his hands would have been shaking and he wouldn't have been able to actually puncture himself. He scratched at the dried blood and the site where he had drawn his blood started bleeding again.  _ Idiot.  _ With a heavy, annoyed sigh, he got up to get some bandages from the bathroom.

Kevin pulled out the box from the cabinet and removed the paper before placing it carefully on his arm. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, studying himself.

His face was paler than it had been. The bags under his eyes more pronounced. His lips were chapped from forgetting to drink. He looked awful. He looked so much older as well. He ran a hand through his longer hair.  _ I'll get it cut. Eventually. _

He went back to his workstation and put the tablet away. Just looking at it gave him a migraine. He pulled out another book and wracked his brains to find something that would help the Winchesters. He had been attempting to translate that stupid rock for months with hardly anything to show for it. But following the clues to figure out the solution to Sam's predicament seemed to be progressing. He found a lead in one book and was cross-referencing it to another, working through the layered meanings in the volumes.

\---

Dean was driving the Impala back to the Bunker. Sam sat with his hand out of the window, his eyes on the road. He made sure to read every sign. He had noticed that sometimes there would be a discrepancy between where they were and how much road he remembered them covering. It happened randomly, it seemed like. But he noticed that it usually happened when he became all too aware of that guilty look that Dean wore on his face or when the awkwardness between them was too obvious.

The younger Winchester hadn't been able to talk easily with his brother for a long time. He noticed the small changes in Dean's habits. They were subtle things. Eye contact and the way his posture changed. The way he tensed when someone approached something that belonged to him. Or his new vices: Namely his obsession with balls and his new oral fixation.

Dean turned to Sam. "You're okay, right?"

And there was also this new obsession with how okay he was. Well, Dean had always been a doting brother. Equal parts guardian and best friend growing up. Their relationship was one that warranted scrutiny before. Brothers closer than most to the point where they had been mistaken for lovers on more than one occasion.

"Sam?" The elder Winchester frowned, thinking that his brother was simply spacing out. "You okay?" he asked again.

"Yes, Dean, I'm okay." Sam replied dryly, rolling his eyes. He wasn't okay. Like Dean, he liked to pretend that nothing was wrong with him. It was how they were raised. You walk it off.

***

Castiel sat shotgun in Lively's rustbucket of a Volvo. He was thinking of his new status of  _ not-quite-human _ and the fact that Lively was absolutely not human herself. His blue eyes were intense on her. He did not yet have the ability to be more discreet with his interest and it wasn't long before Lively gave a sharp sigh.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Why have you agreed to drive me cross-country?"

She shrugged. "You said you wanted to find angel stuff."

He furrowed his brow. "But  _ why _ . From what I know about the Fae, you wouldn't stick around unless--"

"I owe you," she said simply.

"For what?" Castiel asked.

Lively held up three fingers. "For the three slices of pizza."

"But, I thought when you healed the Will-o'-the-Wisp, the debt between us was cleared." He was sure that he'd never understand how the Fairies kept track of their balances, but hoped she'd attempt to explain.

"I took your blood for that."  She shrugged. "But, really, Cas? Three slices of pizza is not equal to a resurrection. Especially of someone I'm not particularly fond of."

Castiel tilted his head slightly, with a questioning look in his eye. "You know him?"

"Not exactly. It's just that me and most of the other fairies don't quite see eye to eye. I've garnered quite the reputation for myself. Running away from Avalon to play with humans."

"You are running away?"

"Not really. I'm well hidden, well warded. These necklaces aren't just for a whimsical sense of fashion. Some of them make fairy wards less effective on me among other things. And this one makes it hard for others to find me." She used her hand to pull one of her pendants into view. She dropped the piece of jewelry from her hand to allow it to fall between her soft breasts. No answer, no words of any kind, or anything. Sometimes, talking with Castiel frustrated her. He lacked good conversation skills in general.

Not liking the quiet, she asked. "So, why are you here? Like this? Angels don't change unless they've, well, changed."

"Like I have stated before, my Grace was taken from me." He spoke in his usual, stilted way. There was a touch of annoyance in his deep voice.

"No, I mean. You might be naive, hon, but… you're very  _ human _ . Well, I mean it's in the way you act. Not very angelic. Angels, from my experience, aren't the most… kind creatures. Most of them have a cold iron rod stuck up their asses." 

"I've never--"

" _ Please _ do not finish that sentence. Are you always so literal?"

"I see… it was a colloquialism," the former angel said. He sat so still that it was unnerving. "You aren't human either," he finally said.

Lively sighed. "No, I'm not." She tapped on the steering wheel impatiently as she was waiting for a red light to turn at an intersection. After a few seconds, she said, "Now, I know I look very human right now, but that's just my glamor, er, magic. Typically, I keep it as a trick of perception more than an actual transfiguration. Not that I can't do an actual transfiguration. See, hon, I can do more complex magic, too. It just requires…"

"Blood," Castiel said.

"Exactly." She chewed on her lip softly before she added. "My magic is a wicked one, Cas. Craft of the same stuffs the Crossroad Demons use to make their deals come true. You play with the physics of the world. Reverse absolute truths, change laws of nature. The bigger the thing you do, the darker the cost." She was being honest. Castiel could feel her honesty, but he wished he could do more than that. He used to be able to glean the information he needed. That ability had spoiled him: He wanted details. He wanted to know the acts that she was alluding to. They couldn't have been worse than the things he had done. Countless angels slain by his hand. If she knew that, would she help him?

Apparently not wanting a silent road trip, Lively said, "So, you were an angel. What happened exactly?"

He sighed a deep sight, not knowing where to start at first, but then felt his words flow out of him. "I think it all started when I was given the order to pull the Righteous Man out of Hell. As soon as I gripped him, something changed. We shared a profound bond from that moment onward. At first, I stuck valiantly to my orders despite it, but soon, I would choose Dean over Heaven." And he proceeded to tell his story from there on the long car ride.

***

Inside his room, Sam was researching mental health. He was afraid that he was going crazy. He also felt that it was necessary to remain strong because Dean was not completely in his right mind. The angel residing inside of Sam hated to see the young man like this. Completely breaking down.

_ What is wrong with me?  _ He pondered with so much anguish that Ezekiel could feel the dread forming that empty pit in the body they shared. Tired eyes. Tired soul. He was tired of it all. Sam heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said.

It was Dean. He wasn't saying much, but just sat next to his brother in the room that was so devoid of personal effects that it didn't look like anybody lived here. Sam liked to think that he was a guest here.

They were silently sitting side by side before Sam finally broke the silence with an impatient, "What is it. Dean."

Dean deposited a worn tennis ball on the bed between himself and his brother.

"Where did you get that?" Sam furrowed his brow, letting little wrinkles appear in his forehead.

"I found it. In the grass. Out on one of my walks," Dean started to explain excitedly. He cleared his throat in an attempt to tone down his enthusiasm. He was embarrassed, but he couldn't help himself. Sam could read his expressions like a book.

"You aren't getting any better," he said with disappointment. He didn't know why it seemed that his brother's progress seemed to fluctuate. Sometimes, he was very, for lack of a better word, 'doggy', and sometimes he was very much in control that he seemed to be the same old Dean. He promised that he wouldn't judge, but it was so much harder when he actually had to do it. He didn't want to feed into this when he felt like it made his brother less human.

"I get it," Dean said with a sharp sigh. Instead of anger, there seemed to be a sense of guilt which unnerved Sam. 

Dean gave his brother a lopsided smile. Was it so bad that he had perfected that mask? He wore it so well that only Sam could see the damage underneath and understood how fake it was. 

"Sammy, I'll… go."

It had been so long since Sam corrected his brother about his name. It seemed so trivial to do so when they had more pressing things. And honestly, Sam felt that it would just add animosity to a relationship that was already strained. They tried to connect, but the secrets between them made it so hard.

_ I did not mean to damage your relationship with him.  _ Ezekiel thought. It was a foolhardy thing, but he knew Sam. The younger Winchester would have just let Dean walk away. He took control of Sam's body, pushing him in the recesses of his own mind. "Dean, wait."

The older Winchester stopped.

"I am sorry."

Hopeful green eyes turned towards him, but immediately that hope was dashed. "Hey Zeke," he said despondently. 

"How do you always know when it's me? You don't have the ability to see the soul."

"Because you ain't Sammy."

Ezekiel pondered to himself the repercussions of telling the truth. He let Sam take over again. 

When Sam regained control, Dean was gone. He felt freshly ashamed about something, and he could not claim that orphan emotion as his own.

_ What happened?  _ Sam thought to himself. He was aware that he was missing a chunk of time again. Immediately he looked at the clock. Only five or so minutes had passed. Still trying to calculate what hurtful thing he might have said in the minutes he lost, Sam missed his chance. He picked up the worn tennis ball, still nestled against his thigh, and looked at it. "What did I do?"

And quietly, like a whisper of a thought, the apology ran through his head.  _ I am sorry. Perhaps, I need to reconsider my course of action…  _

It was an alien thought. Not his own. And it scared him. How often had he gone insane? How often had his mind been put together again? "Are you in my head?" Sam whispered softly. "Are you me?"

The entity's thoughts had stopped and Sam only heard his own. Panic and fear and also curiosity as he probed inside his own head carefully. He had gotten too good at hiding the crazy. He had experience, after all.

***

Castiel and Lively stopped at a Biggerson's in Kansas. His choice. He had grown fond of the restaurant from a few means he had here with the Winchesters. They found a table together and that was when their waitress came to the table. He didn't mention that the Bunker was only an hour and a half away. That Dean and Sam were only an hour and a half away. None the wiser, she attempted to chat as she ate, but the subject matter would die before it really took off. Lively was now privy to Castiel's mistakes. She still hadn't told him of hers. However, she stuck by him. And still offered to be his chaperone and made no indication of when she'd leave him.

The plan was to find another motel room, but Castiel seemed apprehensive about it.

"I don't have a lot of money left," Castiel admitted as he pulled out what he had left in his pocket. A couple hundred dollars. 

Lively added tersely. "So there's that."

"We can sleep in your car."

"It's  _ tiny _ , Cas."

"I can sleep somewhere else, then," he said without missing a beat. He had slept in the trash before. He had slept in a broken down bus in a homeless camp. His body required sleep and he wasn't so picky that he needed a soft place to lay his head in to achieve that.

"I can't have you do that, hon. I'll lean back in this seat. You can stretch out back there." She motioned towards the back seat. She drove the car to a parking lot and Castiel went into the back seat.

The pale moonlight illuminated the area around them. Cars glinted silver and dark from across the lot. She sighed. "Sassa-Cas?" she called, the pet name tender in her voice. He didn't object to being called such a silly name, but he would prefer hearing Dean simply call him the one he had grown accustomed to:  _ Cas. _

"If you hear me, you're supposed to make some sort of indication or something, hon."

"I forget sometimes," he said. He stretched out, wrinkling his plain white tee as he attempted to become comfortable. The weeks of traveling had turned him into all angles. And his hip was jutting into the seat belt buckle. He wasn't going to complain, though. He had been through worse. He deserved worse.

"Make an effort," Lively said in a chiding tone. "You asked the waitress for fifty seven burgers." She pulled out her laptop and the display lit up her face in a cool glow. It was the face that Castiel was used to. Small, demure, plain. Gray eyes. A small mouth. Nothing at all like that fantastic creature he had seen in the woods. Her eyes flickered back and forth as she read the screen.

"Last time I was that hungry, I had over a hundred burgers," Cas replied, too earnestly.

She sighed, a huff of annoyed air. "Yet you are built like a rail. Any girl would want to stab you, Cas." She checked some information. News reports. Strange sightings. She already realized that the man was the most honest creature she knew and did not question his claim.

"Actually it was in the low hundreds," he added in a mumble.

"Sure thing," she said.

He grunted, remembering to make affirming sounds to prove he was listening. Sleep was overtaking his brain. He went to sleep and Lively researched into the night until she was too tired to continue. Then she closed her laptop and leaned back in the driver's seat to rest.

\---

Morning came and Lively woke up to find the former-angel missing. "Shit," she said. "Where is he now?" She scrambled out of the car and stumbled as she was still quite sleep-addled. Unsteady hooves clicked against the asphalt. To the onlooker, they looked like a normal woman's legs, but she didn't bother to glamor the noise away, as the only ones here, at this early hour was herself and the former-angel.

She walked around her vehicle and saw Cas leaned against the back of her car, sitting on the ground, back against the rear bumper. He was staring at some middle distance, his head canted slightly, his body so still that he seemed more like a mannequin than alive.

Lively crossed her arms and decided to wait for him. She lowered her body next to him, getting comfortable. It was several minutes before he blinked back into existence. 

Castiel looked slightly disoriented, but spoke.  "We're going to Wyoming. Something is going to happen there. Some kind of… bar? I think. It was hard to listen in."

"What were you listening to?" Lively asked, genuinely curious.

"Angel radio."

"Oh, and that just makes it  _ crystal clear _ ," the fae said as she rose to her feet. She was annoyed that he didn't realize she didn't know what exactly _angel radio_ entailed, but she could guess and decided to run with it. "So, a bar in Wyoming. The best we can do is start on the trip, right?"

***

Sam found Dean waxing the Impala the next day. Except his brother was wearing an old gas-mask he had found in the Bunker's storage. He never had to do that before. "Dean?" Sam assumed the smell was too sharp for his keener sense of smell.

Dean stopped working and his head tilted up towards his brother, and then there was that frustrated snort that seemed magnified by the gear that he was wearing. He looked back down at the work he was doing, buffing out the wax to bring the Impala to a careful shine. The action was so loving. This was his  _ Baby _ after all. And, despite the gas-mask, this was such a  _ Dean  _ thing that he was doing. His expressions were barely visible, but Sam could imagine them.

"Can I help out?"

He mumbled something while wearing the mask which Sam could not understand. 

"Uh…"

He gave Sam an eye roll so obvious that it could be seen through the eye pieces. Dean pointed at the tires. They were clean, but Sam had watched his brother enough times to know what he wanted. He picked up the chemicals and tools he needed as he hunched over the tires. They worked well together. Sam had helped his brother in this a few times before--when Dean had been too injured, for example. In another life, Dean would probably be a mechanic. Perhaps he'd simply focus on restoring old cars. Sam thought quietly that he'd be a lawyer if it wasn't for everything that happened.

They worked quietly. Even if Dean wasn't wearing a gas-mask, he still would have been quiet. He was focused, engrossed in the task, and that left no room for silly jokes or banter. It felt normal between them for once and Sam was thankful for that.

When the Impala was finished, Dean went over to Sam's work. He pointed at the tires and mumbled something else.

"Yes, I sealed in the shine, too," Sam said. His shirt was dirty and he was sweaty, putting a lot of work.

Dean gave him a thumbs-up.

\---

Once inside the bunker, Dean removed the mask and sighed. His hair was messed up from wearing the stupid thing. He didn't comment on it. And Sam didn't dare comment. He saw how grateful his brother was for not needing to explain himself when the explanation was obvious. When there was nothing they could do right now to help him. But it was looming like an elephant in the room. Sam couldn't ignore it. He chose to address it in a way with a bit more tact.

"Hey, Dean. We can probably buy a more modern one," Sam said. "They make them better nowadays." He thought it was elegant. Addressing the whole thing while not bringing attention to the reason why Dean needed it.

"Uh, yeah." His head still seemed out of it; like he was thinking through a fog before his words could work.

"I'm sorry about last night. I know I promised about…"

Dean interrupted. "It's okay. No chick-flick moments. Remember?"

"Gotcha. Dean, if you need anything…"

He looked down at his feet. "Let's hunt," he said abruptly. Impatient. He seemed antsy as his eyes flickered to Sam's pocket.

"You know the ball is in my pocket," Sam said.

Dean silently nodded.

The first thing that Sam thought was that his brother was absolutely not ready to go and hunt something. 

"Now, before you say anything, I've always been… more myself after a hunt."

"Fine," Sam said, but only because he realized how true it was. He wanted to see if Dean was right. That hunting brought him back to his right mind. And if it did, why?


	7. Trigger Stacking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, we will begin to follow the events of Episode 9.09 Holy Terror. This chapter has been a blast to write and I was so tempted to start the story here, but decided to start it the moment Cas left Rexford instead for more impact when it got to this scene. I'm a sucker for slow-starting stories. This is where it starts to get a little crazy guys.
> 
> Chapter's title is a slight deviation from the pool of words I usually draw from. "Trigger Stacking" is strictly dog training jargon, but I found it to perfectly describe what's happening in this chapter, emotionally. This chapter is longer than others I have written and was one of the easiest chapters to write. Lots of plot things are happening. Let's get the ball rolling.

***

Castiel tilted his head as he sat in the passenger's seat. His eyes stared at nothing. He was concentrating, straining to listen to the streams of communication which were blinking in and out of his mind. The words were in Enochian and trying to tune into them reminded him of trying to find the clear station of an ornery radio. They skipped and crackled, words of other languages interwoven in the sentences. They were thick with codes within codes, but Castiel was familiar with some of them. He had led a garrison once. He was once a soldier for heaven himself and that was where these angels had drawn their training from. His blue eyes refocused as he brought himself out of it and consulted the map of Wyoming on his lap.

"What is it?" Lively asked.

"They are speaking in codes," he stated.

"Don't worry your little head about it, hon."

Cas frowned. "My head is of average size for my height and frame."

"And you're still worrying. How about we rest up in a motel somewhere, Sassa-Cas?" Before he could say anything, Lively added, "And I am _not_ sleeping in this car again. Besides, I'll owe you a motel room then. Three slices of pizza and a room."

\---

_Creed, Colorado_

Lively stood with her arms crossed. She wore a high-waisted pencil skirt with a pale blue blouse. The thick-rimmed glasses and her hair pulled back in a tight bun finished the professional look. She had her suit jacket folded in her arms. Her lips were lusciously dark. And she had dressed herself a lot faster than it was taking Castiel. She paced in front of the gas station bathroom, impatiently.

They had been keeping their eyes and ears on the news. Both human and angel radio. And this was their last stop before they headed to Caribou. The massacre had been all over the news and the angel was sore that he hadn't made it in time.

Soon, Castiel emerged. The suit was a nice one that they picked up at a thrift store. It looked worn and didn't fit perfectly. It was slightly loose in the pants, which needed hemmed up so he didn't trip himself up. And the sleeves. Whoever earned the suit before he bought it had been taller. In addition, he had put the tie on backwards, somehow.

Lively giggled. "You spent all that time with those boys and they never taught you how to put on a tie properly?" She reached up and redid the knot and did so perfectly. Castiel stood perfectly still as she pulled the knot against his neck. She reached up and neatened his hair with a quick run through of her cool fingers. She straightened out the wrinkles in his clothes. All of these small adjustments happened within a handful of minutes. Long enough to vex Castiel, but not long enough to take an inordinate amount of time. "Small touches complete the picture," Lively explained as he huffed in annoyance.

"I fail to see what these 'small touches' add to the credibility of my appearance." Though his hands did not move, you could hear the finger quotes around the borrowed phrase. "We need to get there. Now."

"Oh, Sassa-Cas." Lively rolled her eyes and dragged him into the bathroom. "Look." She gestured towards the grimy mirror.

Cas straightened his posture when he saw his reflection. He looked professional. She was right. He looked different than the frumpled, starved, tired man that left the gas station bathroom the first time before she fixed him up. After Lively adjusted a few things, pushed back his newly cut hair, and fixed his tie. He moved his arms and found that the sleeves were perfect length now. The shoulders properly fit as did the length and width of the slacks. In fact, his suit looked completely new. And that changed everything.

"It was nothing a good tailor couldn't do, hon. And if you're keeping tally, that's for the motel room last night. So, let's hit the road," Lively said.

***

Dean was driving at night, heading to Caribou, Wyoming. Sam was in the passenger's seat. It was a long drive, but Sam had found something on angels. And as much as Dean wanted to humor Ezekiel, as the angel was the one who was pretty much holding Sam's body hostage, he couldn't turn down the case. And Ezekiel was, of course, going to understandably pissy about it once he found out.

Dean didn't even need more than a quick glance over to know that Sam wasn't Sam anymore. It was a slight change of posture, in the still way he sat, and even in his too-even breathing. "Hey Zeke," Dean said.

The angel had stopped asking how Dean knew. He was sure that there was something about his brother that he couldn't emulate.

"How's Sam?"

"The healing is going well," Ezekiel stated plainly.

Dean's expression brightened up, but he kept his eyes on the road. "So, he's better?"

"Yes. Sam is much improved. It shouldn't be much longer now."

And the hunter deflated. "Okay, you know you said the same thing to me last week, right?"

Sensing he may have said the wrong thing, Ezekiel explained, "As I told you when we met–this will take time."

"Okay, well, go then. Heal. I'd like my brother back, please." Dean's gruff voice was full of impatience and frustration.

"I must say, Dean, I'm very uncomfortable with this whole trip. Investigating crimes involving angels – or anything involving angels – puts me, and therefore, Sam, at risk." He said that, to remind Dean the reason for the reason he had warned against angel hunts.

"Family business, Zeke. Sammy would get suspicious if we _didn't_ take this job."

"Then I trust you will be discreet." Most of the reason why Ezekiel even allowed Sam and Dean to go this far was because he knew that the two of them needed something like this.

It finally dawned on Dean or perhaps Ezekiel's lack of resistance tipped him off.  "Wait, if you know where we're going, that means you've been listening in. Are you, uh, are you hearing everything between me and Sam?"

Ezekiel wondered how much he should reveal. Should he share that he knew just how far gone Dean was at this time? That the only reason he was sane enough to drive was because he had seen him marking the area around the Bunker when he thought Sam wasn't looking. Though technically, Sam _wasn't_ looking--Ezekiel was. Or that he had taken the tennis ball from Sam's coat pocket in the morning. Or that Sam knew about that, but didn't say a thing about it. The relationship between the two brothers was shifting as Dean's behavior got more and more erratic.

"I pick up a few things, here and there," Ezekiel answered as honestly as he could. "Dean, I am sorry about all of this. I never wanted you to grow apart."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I know that you've been struggling lately."

"I'm peachy," Dean said. "Just get Sam better. Then we'll worry about me."

Ezekiel sighed. It was as if he could do nothing right.

"Hey Zeke…" The tone was of apology, but the angel didn't stick around to let Dean finish.

Sam's eyes flashed blue as Ezekiel receded. The younger Winchester continued chatting right where he had left off, "—you know, I was gonna say, it seems like it's getting really quiet out there, you know? Not a peep from the angels, even Buddy Boyle goes off the air and stops recruiting for them."

Sam noticed that the air between his brother and himself had changed. It was serious and was heavy with apology and regret.

Dean cleared his throat and attempted to fix the situation. Ezekiel hadn't made it easy for him. It didn't occur to to Dean that he might have hurt the angel's feelings. "Obviously calm before the storm," the older brother remarked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, unconvinced by Dean's behavior. Obviously, time had passed again. He had said something that he shouldn't have. Something that hurt Dean. Couldn't his brother see how unfair it was to keep whatever his other self was saying away from him. He looked out of the window for any sort of clue.

 _Fort Collins, 50 miles_. He stared at it. How long had he been out of it? A small, sharp sigh left him. Disbelief. Perhaps he should tell Dean about his issue. If he could be out of it for nearly forty minutes (judging by how quickly Dean normally drove), then that would not be good for the hunt. People might die.

Sam was so afraid to mention it. He was raised to bury his issues. On more than one occasion, their upbringing was described as being raised as soldiers, but really, they were raised as survivors. It was ingrained into them that being stoic and pretending nothing was wrong was the best solution until they were equipped to deal with the issue. But what if the issue was that his mind was broken? Sam was aware that Dean was going through a similar struggle and that bringing it out in the open had repaired some of the rift between them.

Perhaps he was simply afraid that he really was losing his mind.

"Sam? See something interesting?"

"The sign awhile back said 'Fort Collins, 50 miles.'"

"Yeah, so?"

"It means… I'm missing time, Dean. I don't remember the whole trip. The last sign I saw for Fort Collins, about five minutes ago tops, said it was 100 miles away."

He saw the muscle in his brother's neck tense and then relax as he swallowed a wad of saliva. Nervous. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. It's probably because of the trials. Or Vesta. She did a number on you."

Sam sighed, his cheeks puffing out as he did so. He let himself speak. "I… uh. It's been going on for awhile." And the words that went unsaid was that Sam was afraid it was getting worse. He distinctly heard a voice in his head two nights before. "Look, I don't know if we should do this hunt anymore."

Dean whimpered. _Why couldn't you open up before this trip, Sammy?_  "I need this Sam."  The desperation in his voice was heartbreaking. Sam knew he wanted to run through that theory. That hunting quelled the symptoms of his predicament. "We'll just look around and play it by ear."

Sam sat back in the seat. "But if it even _smells_ like trouble…"

Dean smirked at the jab in Sam's sentence. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

***

_Lebanon, Kansas_

Crowley leaned back in his chair. He could feel his growing humanity mingling with the darkness in his soul. He pondered the definition of being a demon. How much that had changed him. He wondered the state that Hell was in. His closest knew that this was all a part of his contingency plan. That there was power in making allies and building trust in the most unlikely of places. Calling in favors and planning ahead while cultivating a careful reputation was how he made it this far.

He saw the lights flicker on. Kevin was back in the file room. He had been here a lot more often, looking over old Men of Letters cases and cross-referencing them to things he read in the old tomes and on the angel tablet.

He heard the lock on the door unlatch and then saw the haggard prophet enter. He folded his hands and raised his head as regally as he could despite the warded iron collar around his neck. Uncomfortable.

"Crowley," Kevin said the demon's name like it was a curse.

"Kevin," the demon responded with warmth. "It's like we're besties already. Hasn't even been a week since we saw each other last."

The prophet revealed a syringe already full of his blood. He saw Crowley's eyes light up, saw the hunger in them. He smiled. If the King of Hell was addicted, then it would make it easier for him to get information. The prophet said one name, "Sam." It was easy to know what he wanted.

"This again?" he said in his accented voice, clearly bored.

"Do you want it or not?"

Crowley eyed the blood and then shrugged. "He's possessed."

"By an angel, yes. I know," Kevin said.

"Took you long enough to sort that out," Crowley said; his voice like smoke.

"I want to know _who_ is possessing Sam _."_ The prophet said. He knew that most angels were not going to be friendly to the Winchesters and that narrowed down who the possible angels could be. "Is it Naomi?"

Crowley laughed and, honestly, there was a hollowness to it that betrayed the sadness he felt for the loss of her life. "She's dead." It was harder to separate himself from his emotions when he had this much human blood swimming in his veins.

"Then who?"

"I am the _King of Hell!_ " Crowley yelled, slamming his hands on the table and causing Kevin to jump. "I don't know what every bloody angel is up to!" Crowley collected himself almost instantaneously, seeming to have taken great glee on causing the boy to startle.

"Give me _something."_

"Fine. In Heaven, there is a prison. In the prison are all the angels who couldn't do as they were told. The spell that I've heard _so_ much about kicked _all_ of the angels from heaven, right?" He spoke casually. "So, it follows that Moose is probably harboring a fugitive."

Kevin's color drained at that realization. He'd have to research to confirm what Crowley had just said.

Crowley opened his hand. "So, I gave you your ' _something.'_ I will now take my prize."

Kevin held out the syringe for Crowley to take. The King of Hell had a smug look in his eye as he went to grab for the blood. Kevin hated seeing the conceit of the victor in Crowley's eyes. And that incensed the young man and he pulled it out of Crowley's reach.

"Playing hard to get?" he asked.

"My mom," Kevin demanded.

"Ah, right. She's alive."

"Tell me where she is!"

" _Quid. Pro. Quo."_ Crowley emphasized each word, spitting them at the prophet.

"Where is my mom!"

Silence.

"Where is she?"

Crowley said nothing.

"Tell me!"

He only gave the prophet a smile which wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "You're so cute when you're angry, Short Round."

Fuming, Kevin yelled, "Where is my mom!"

"And why should I tell you a single sodding thing? You've showed me you aren't willing to be honest."

Pissed and knowing he was losing his control of the situation, Kevin left the room. His heart pounding, the syringe still in his pocket. He emptied it in the bathroom sink, coloring the porcelain red and then pink. Not even his blood. It was fake blood. He was trembling. _Did Crowley know I was lying the whole time? Was he lying the whole time?_ He couldn't get the information and he didn't know for sure if his mother was alive or not. Crowley's words couldn't possibly be honest, and he had tried to pry something out of the King of Hell. Some sort of location, but nothing came out.

He quieted his rage, but it was there, hot under his skin, sharp in his mind. Crowley had destroyed everything of his old life. All he had left was the Angel Tablet and the Winchesters.

\---

Kevin readied himself at the desk. He piled the pertinent books on the desk and opened up his laptop. He placed everything in very specific places on the dark wood. He took out a notepad and a pen, flipping through his pages, past the epiphany he had about Sam being possessed, over potential spells and sigils that he had written down, and a few things he had jotted down about the angel tablet. Volumes and passages were written down in the margins of his notepad.

It all looked like ramblings and gibberish, but he had a system. It had become like a world he slipped into and his thoughts were laser focused on his task until what had transpired between himself and Crowley was so small that it stopped existing. All that mattered now was the task at hand. Compartmentalizing. Kevin forgot if that was a healthy way to manage stress. Probably not. Nothing he did was healthy now.

***

_Caribou, Wyoming_

Lively stood cross-armed behind Castiel as he bent down to investigate the ash wings on the floor. Broken wings, sparsely feathered. Matching the crime scene with the photographs, it appeared some men didn't have that shadow silhouette of wings at all, but there was still ash on the floor near where their bodies had been. So, it was safe to assume that all of them had been angels. They had grouped here and had been killed, most likely by other angels. The police murmured, uncomfortable with the crime scene.

Lively stepped carefully, her hooves barely touching the floor as she gingerly moved forward and put a gentle hand on the former-angel. He did not move either away from or into her touch. He stood too still to be human, she told herself.

" _Cas,_ " she said sweetly, quietly, in her old language. " _You couldn't do a thing. We got here as fast as we could._ " Her words bounced slightly and sounded breathlessly flowing from her mouth. She knew he understood her. Angels were polyglots, after all.

" _You don't understand,"_ he answered back. His tongue wasn't used to the phonetics of the words he summoned forth, and he spoke haltingly. " _If I had my Grace, I would have made it._ "

He flexed the muscles in his shoulders and back. Obviously he was missing his wings. If he had had them, perhaps he could have just appeared here and prevented it. Talked with the angels. Then he could have tried all of the potential locations instead of just riding as a passenger in a fae's rusty Volvo until it was too late.

He turned away and started speaking with one of the officers who had been there at the moment they opened the door and saw the bodies. He was focused on solving this hunt and figuring out his part in stopping the violence.

She shook her head, a few strands of her ash-brown hair falling out of her bun and framing her face. This was going to be a long day. She left the door to look at the scant evidence outside.

***

Sam and Dean showed their badges to the officer at the door of the Round 'em Up Bar in Caribou, Wyoming. "Ah, so there's more of you guys? We got two of your agents already," the officer commented, which caused the brothers to look at each other.

The single glance was a silent, split second conversation.

Sam: _Hunters or Feds? Perhaps we should bow out?_

Dean: _Whoever it is, we'll see if they need help with this case, first._

The brothers tucked their badges back into their pockets. They turned to face front again and headed through the door, mentally preparing for either a hunter in over his head or an agent in over his head.

Dean moved through the threshold first. His nose caught the scent of ash, and blood and ozone like a freshly finished storm. He scanned the room, but found his gaze stuck on an officer who was glaring at him. The man had something against the feds coming in and taking his case. The cop gaze hardened, territorial. Dean felt a spike of aggression rising to challenge the officer in his stare-down. _Dial it back, Fido._

Dean took control of his mind again, quashing his instincts. He forced his eyes to look at the floor. He stepped carefully, glancing idly at the bright yellow markers at the scene of the crime. Broken chairs scattered about. A pool game left unfinished. The bodies had all been moved so all that remained were the ash wings. A forensics guy was collecting samples. He heard the flash and snap of a camera as the photographer took several pictures for evidence. Through the din, Dean could hear the various theories, gossip, and even the warm chuckle shared as someone made a dark joke. He couldn't focus on any one stimulus. It was overwhelming.

"Dean?" Sam called quietly. He touched his brother's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Dean lifted his gaze again. This time, he focused on a man who was talking to one of the officers. _That must be one of the Feds._ He saw only the man's back. He was reminded immediately of Castiel. Perhaps it was the man's dark hair. The way he stood: As if he were consciously trying to take up a human-sized amount of space. And then, the man turned as he gestured towards one of the bodies. He lifted his eyes towards the Winchesters and Dean felt his heart drop into his gut. It _was_ Cas.

He couldn't help himself. What he was feeling was intense. The thinking parts of his brain had gone numb as emotions washed over him. His throat felt tight and the smallest whimpering sound escaped it. Sam squeezed his brother's shoulder, _are you okay Dean?_ But Dean leaned hungrily into his touch. It kept him grounded; he felt the overall tension leave his body.

Castiel now excused himself from his conversation with the older officer by saying quietly, "Ah, my colleagues."

Dean braced himself as Sam stepped away from him to greet Castiel. In a voice that sounded reserved for co-workers on friendly terms, equal parts professional and familiar, Sam said, "Agent." He clapped his hand against Castiel's arm.

Castiel smiled at the contact. "Agent," he echoed, enjoying being in on the game for once.

His eyes turned towards Dean. And this was when the older Winchester became acutely aware of the former-angel's stare. In his new state, the intent in a person's eye contact was magnified.  "Uh Cas, what the hell are you doing here?" He somehow maintained his cool and his words flowed well enough.

Cas leaned forward, conspiratorially, "I still have that badge you gave me."

It was like Dean couldn't see his face. Only those eyes, twinkling.

"Uh, yeah. What the hell are you doing?" It came out harsher than he wanted, but it was because it was taking everything not to just leap up and touch Cas. Dean watched Cas's expression fall as he repeated his question. And Dean wanted to hide in a corner. Cower and cringe and grovel in order to escape the impending punishment. The man in him would have taken it without this feeling. The animal in him wanted to escape it. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._ It repeated in his brain. An earworm of an apology. Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but he couldn't make the words work.

"Dean?" Cas called and caused Sam to look towards his brother.

"Are you okay?"

Dean was frustrated. He was doing mostly fine until _Cas_ showed up. He could have finished the case without a hitch and prove to Sam that nothing was wrong with him. He just had a few quirks now. And that would be that. Instead, he walked away, heading out without an explanation. Cas automatically made a move to go after Dean.

"Cas, wait." Sam grabbed his arm and the former-angel's eyes lingered on Dean's back, yearning to fix whatever it was that he had done here to cause his coldness. Kicked out of the Bunker, stranded without money, clothes, nothing to his name. Cas didn't understand what was going on with Dean and Sam wasn't sure if it was his place to explain because Sam himself didn't fully understand it all. "Dean is going through something."

There were a few cops snickering, believing that Dean's sudden departure from the crime scene was due to being squeamish.

\---

Lively was attracted to where the Chevy Impala had been parked. It was near her Volvo and made her dinky car look even more horrible in comparison. There was a new shine to the Impala, as if it had been freshly waxed. The car was obviously well-loved. She couldn't say the same thing about her Volvo, but she had bought the damn thing for a couple hundred bucks and it ran mostly on a miracle. A piece of junk when she got it four years ago and brought it to life with her magic.

She hunkered down, squatting to look at how finely the car had been detailed.

Dean approached her, stopping nearly ten feet away, only seeing her gold hair, done up in a tight bun. He noticed the pale skin of her neck, so pale he thought bitterly it was as if she were as colorless as a corpse. She had an odd smell to her. Equal parts earth and river. And the tang of blood. However, she had just come from a crime scene that smelled like blood. Her attire hinted that she might be the other FBI agent. Though Dean had neglected to ask Cas if the other agent was with him or was an actual agent.

"Hey Miss, looking at my ride?"

His words caused her to startle a little. She stood up. "I don't think anybody can get my car to shine like this," she said with a laugh, still looking over the detailing.

"I'm sure--"

"It's the Volvo there."

He looked at the old, beat-up car near the Impala. It definitely had seen better days. He whistled. "Definitely needs work done."

Dean was thankful for the distance he had between them. Not because he was shy. Lord knows Dean Winchester was not shy. Rather, he was afraid of losing control again.

Lively turned to face him. "I used to call the car Willit," she said with a beaming grin. "Will it start, will it stall, will it run? Though, now that it's a lot more reliable--" She stopped talking when she noticed the animosity in Dean's eyes. Her smile faded as the joke died.

"What the hell are you?" He drew his gun and pointed it at her, ready to shoot. She didn't know how, but he could see her through the glamor. She could feel his scrutiny on her face, on her body. Her pale, gray-tinted skin. Her dark, bestial eyes, and golden hair. And, of course, her hooves.

\---

Sam was worried about Dean and one glance at Castiel told the younger Winchester that the former-angel was just as worried. He hung back, waiting for Sam to explain what he meant when he said that Dean was going through something, but it was never expanded on.

"He was unable to speak," Castiel noted. Dean wasn't one known for being at a loss for words.

And Sam could only think that Dean had not been ready for this case. That it was stupid for the both of them to make it out this far. When he was losing time, going insane, and Dean was, apparently, losing his humanity. What the hell were they doing out here, on a hunt? Sam sighed and then said, "C'mon Cas, let's go."

Castiel followed Sam outside of the bar.

\---

They moved to the Impala when they saw Dean and Lively next to each other, speaking. Dean didn't look too upset at the moment. "He's talking with Lively," Castiel said.

"Lively?"

"That is what she calls herself," Cas explained. "I was confused at first because it was an adjective."

And then, they saw Dean draw a gun on Lively.

\---

"Dean!" Deep and gravelly, Castiel's voice was familiar and did strange things to Dean. _What's happening to me?_ The emotion bloomed in his head and he couldn't pinpoint what he was actually feeling. _Fear? Anger? Joy? Anxiety?_ Trying to decipher it was like trying to stare at the sun to count sunspots.

"Put your gun down." This time, Sam's voice.

"She's a monster," Dean said, unable to keep his tone quiet as he went more and more on edge. "Look Sam, Cas. I don't know what kind of whammy she's hit you with, but I _see_ her. She's not human."

"It's okay, Dean." Sam walked up to his brother and carefully disarmed him. He looked behind his shoulder and noticed that, miraculously, none of the officers seemed to notice. They passed by undisturbed. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, remembering how it had calmed him when they were in the bar. Instead, his brother shrugged him off, wired and intense as a new thought echoed through his head: _What if I'm losing my mind?_

"I'm sorry, Miss." He eyed the badge still in her hand, " _Agent._ My partner is going through something. I think he's not ready for--"

"She's with me." Castiel got between Dean and Lively so that he faced the former. Cas assessed the situation while Dean attempted to look around the former-angel's body, nostrils flared and green eyes intense.

 _Get out the way, Cas._ The words were not said, but Cas could feel them.

Cas brought his hand up, towards Dean's forehead, a habit that he still hadn't lost despite being human for months. And put two fingers against the hunter's warm skin, trying to get him to collapse and sleep to just calm the situation down.

And he couldn't accomplish that. That angelic power was completely gone.  What happened instead was just as effective: Dean leaned into Cas's fingers and bowed his head until the former-angel's hands slid into the hunter's hair. In this closer contact, Cas could feel a desire that confused him.   _Pet me._ Nothing sexual about it, but simply the plaintive demand of an animal that had grown far too attached to people, that merely wanted to be touched and loved upon.

"Okay," Castiel said. He ruffled Dean's hair tentatively and watched as the hunter unwound and relaxed, his eyes shutting, and a content sigh leaving him. He could read his friend's mind. It was a strange mix of satisfaction, comfort, and shame. A desire not to speak of this that Castiel chose to reverently uphold because he didn't want to Dean to reject him again.

Dean pulled away from Cas finally, huffing under his breath. Castiel raised his arm to stroke Dean's hair again.

"Cas! What the hell!" Dean dodged his friend's fingers and his heart was hammering, but he felt like himself again.

The former-angel looked confused. "You wanted me to continue," he stated.

"I sure as hell did _not_!"

\---

Sam was looking out at the police officers, who were busy at the crime scene. Had they not seen the strange things that were going on here?

Lively could guess who these two tall, well-built men were. _Winchesters_. She didn't know much about them, but Castiel highly regarded both of them. From what Cas had told her, they were dangerous, especially if one of them already saw her as a monster. She thought she could sidle away while Dean was distracted by Cas. She took a sidestep away from the brothers, towards her own car.

"Don't even think about it," Dean said, darkly. He bared his teeth. He drew a knife.

Lively gave a sheepish, closed-mouth smile, not wanting to offer Dean a peek at her fangs. She held her hands up in a gesture of peace, but it had no effect on the hunter.

"Dean!" Sam said sharply. "Stop it."

"Oh come on!" Dean said, weapon still brandished. "She's got _hooves,_ Sammy!"

Sam glared at his brother, "That's not what I see." All Sam saw was a petite woman with soft, delicate features. Gray eyes behind askew glasses. Ash-brown hair tied in a bun. She looked nothing like a monster, but Sam wasn't sure. Dean had shared a few nights ago that he could smell that Bonnie Futchko was Vesta. He wondered if he should trust his brother, who was presently glowering at Lively. "She's with Cas," Sam reminded his brother.

"Friggin' hooves," Dean muttered under his breath, finally sheathing the knife. He was sane enough now to think things through. It was slightly unnerving that it took Castiel's touch before he was back in his right mind again. He thought of the feeling again, wanting it again, and glanced at the former-angel, who shifted uncomfortably.

Clearheaded, Dean noticed Cas's bony wrists and how his face was thinner. The angles sharper and his eyes, though they were still bright and expressive, were tired. And guilt filled him. _This_ happened to Cas because of his choices, and still he was able to look at Dean without a shred of anger.

"Well," Lively said, "That was exciting." She gave a thin, tired smile. "Cas?"

He stood still. The air between the four was so tense--a stand-off between Dean and Lively. Mistrust on both ends. Finally, Sam said, attempting to defuse the situation, "How about we leave for the motel while you two to finish up here?" He couldn't have himself and Dean stay here. Not when there was something seriously wrong with the both of them.

Dean grumbled, but Castiel and Lively agreed.

\---

"So, that was the Winchesters?" Lively asked when the brothers left the scene, Dean driving the Impala--he insisted. She and Cas started back to the bar to continue the investigation.

"Yes. Though, they usually are more agreeable." Cas turned his head to watch the Impala disappear down the road. Dutifully, he started back to the bar to complete his investigation, just as Dean and Sam told him to. A small smile played on his lips.

"Cas? Hon?"

He paused for a moment.

"You do realize that there is something seriously wrong with both of them?"

"I know." But Castiel would be a liar if he said he didn't enjoy the way Dean melted to his touch, even if his mental state was disconcerting. "But they want us to finish here."

"You don't have to prove yourself to them."

"I, uh--"

"I'm observant, remember?" She followed after him, but noticed his steps had slowed.

Castiel could only think of those days when he was homeless, picking through trash, because he had been kicked out of the Bunker. He had lost everything and Dean made no effort to help. And he thought that it was because of what he had done: He had done terrible things and made terrible mistakes. "You're wrong, Lively." Cas had to show the Winchesters what he could do, even though he was no longer an angel of the Lord.


	8. Kin Selection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a doozy and this one is even more of one. I had fun writing it!
> 
> Also, yes, plot things are happening this chapter. Can't wait for the little seeds I planted in the beginning of the story to turn into plot flowers. You're starting to see them sprout.

_ Caribou, Wyoming _

Dean always knew when it was the angel and when it was his brother. There were things about his brother that the angel could not mimic. The way Sam carried his burden without complaint and still managed to be the voice of reason and the brains of their duo without losing his heart. The one sitting next to him in the Impala was not his brother.

Ezekiel sat too still. A common practice of angels, it seemed. Stoic and proper, but he seemed to be too much of a try-hard. 

"So how much of that mess did you end up seeing?" Dean asked the angel.

Ezekiel looked straight ahead, not turning his head towards Dean. He had a disapproving look to him and Dean could smell it from where he was sitting. "What are you going to do about Castiel?"

The hunter tightened his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, at the mention of his friend's name. "Well, it's not like I told him to come," Dean said, roughly.

"He is a beacon, Dean, pulling every angel for miles down on our heads."

But that didn't make sense to Dean. Castiel had been alone for many months and didn't look any worse for wear.  _ Except he's not eating enough and he's hunting things. _ He worried for his friend, especially because it seemed he was stupid enough to start running around with whatever the hell that monster was. "All right, you know what, Zeke? Level with me. What is it that you're so afraid of?"

The angel contemplated telling Dean the whole truth about where he had come from and why he was here. He saw how the lies between the brothers had torn them apart and it wasn't until recently, when there was a bit more honesty between them, that their relationship was starting to be repaired. But he knew that there was no such thing as redemption for the mistakes that he had made.

"I told you. When I chose to answer your prayers and heal Sam, I chose sides. That means I'm not in good standing with certain angels." Not a complete lie.

"Okay, well, you know what? Cas isn't in good standing with any angel, all right? But here he is, ass on the line, fighting the fight. So tell me, what makes you so special?" Dean had a touch of affection in his voice, a sense of pride for the former angel.

The angel grumbled, but didn't answer.

"Ah, don't leave just yet." He remembered seeing all of those moments when Sam came back after Zeke was taking his body for a spin. Usually after he and Ezekiel had some sort of disagreement. He always could see the concealed bewilderment as his brother attempted to get his bearings, trying to leave Dean none the wiser. Recently, Sam had finally revealed that he was missing large chunks of time. "I just…"

Ezekiel softened Sam's eyes. "You care very much for your brother." He sighed. "I cared for mine, too. Once upon a time." Regret colored the angel's voice and Dean realized quickly how close Zeke was to a confession, but then, the angel stopped. He wasn't going to share.

"Did you… see that chick who was with Cas?"

"I saw only a woman, not the monster you saw, Dean," the angel replied. 

"Awesome. So I'm seeing things, too," Dean said. "At least this way, I end up going to the looney bin instead of the SPCA." It was his attempt to bring levity into this fucked up situation. Of course, it had no effect on Ezekiel.

"Oh, come on! At least crack a smile, Zeke."

"Why?"

" _ Why?" _ Dean repeated as he rolled his eyes. "Because it was a joke and I want someone to appreciate the damn thing." He knew he was making a big deal of it. He deserved to be able to make a big deal out of nothing, goddammit.

The angel moved Sam's face into a facsimile of a grin. It was missing a lot of things: The smile failed to reach the eyes, and it looked like Ezekiel was attempting to use the muscles of the face he wasn't used to using. It wasn't genuine and it was strange to see, but it got Dean to laugh.

Ezekiel furrowed Sam's brow. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, Zeke. It was fine." The ghost of the smile remained on Dean's face. A left over from the laugh. His green eyes were bright. 

The angel stewed, feeling mocked and ridiculed. "Can I leave now?" he said, pissily. 

"Look, man. I needed that." 

Ezekiel smiled again. A small one, genuine. And he let Sam have the reins again. 

When Sam came to, he was too aware of the shy smile on his face. It felt strange, foreign: A smile that wasn't his. It was jarring because the last thing he remembered was being disappointed and stressed about Dean's behavior. Time had to have passed since then. For once, he didn't return to tension and he couldn't say that he preferred it. "It happened again," Sam said, trying to get his bearings.

"Yeah," Dean said.

Sam's brows furrowed, but it looked different than when Ezekiel used the expression. When Sam did it, Dean recognized the expression. It was confusion, thinly veiled, but mostly worried. 

Dean would have told him anything in a moment if it didn't mean that Sam would die. And so, despite not wanting to do so, he chose to talk about what happened today, at the bar. A distraction so that Sam wouldn't ask too many questions. "I guess I lost control back there."

"Yeah, you said it. Not me," Sam took the bait and didn't ask anything about Ezekiel. He didn't want to talk about it, either.

"It was because of Cas," Dean said. That was when things really started to go sideways, in Dean's mind.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You were getting weird before you noticed Cas." He hoped that Dean would explain a little bit about what went on in his head. Of course, he didn't, and all Sam earned was his brother's glare. "Dean?"

"Sammy."

"It's Sam."

" _ Sammy _ , I'm--"

"Dammit Dean, you are  _ not _ fine!"

Both brothers were seething in their seats. Quietly, Dean reached down and turned up the music. He began to sing to Zeppelin, but it did little to quell the growing tension.

***

Lively stood next to Cas as he looked over the photographs with her. She studied the bloodied bodies, and the way the ash extended from the corpses as if they were the shadows of broken wings. Some of the bodies looked sadistically mutilated.

"These angels, uh, they were butchered. Much more violence than was required."

While most of the dead were bikers, Cas pointed to two women on the floor wearing dresses, speckled with blood. There were broken wings in ash under them too.

"Who are they?" Lively asked.

"Another faction," Castiel said. "The war is starting."

***

The whole thing was a debacle. But the Winchesters felt lucky that nobody's life was in danger. Head bowed, Dean went into the room and paced compulsively before he hopped into the bed and sat with his back against the headboard, hands behind his head and ankles crossed. Open body language, confident. Very Dean-like. It was like he shed off the instincts and became his brother again. Dean took the remote and turned the television on. He had missed the first fifteen minutes of the  _ Dr. Sexy, MD  _ rerun.

"Not gonna take your shoes off?" Sam said.

Dean flashed his brother a grin. "Nope."

"You brought it up earlier. What was going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" Dean played dumb, mostly because he didn't want to talk about it. Especially again. The inability to do the job in the way he used to. Last case, they didn't have to pretend to be Feds and interact with the local law enforcement officers who didn't want to share their case. They didn't have to work where the scent of blood and ash and an oncoming storm filled the air. And most of all, that strange effect that Castiel had on him. That touch on his head was so comforting. He wanted to feel it again.

Sam moved his large body between Dean and the television, blocking his view. He crossed his arms and gave his brother a hard stare.

"Oh come on!" Dean attempted to look around his brother. "It was just getting to the good part!"

"You've seen this episode.  _ I've  _ seen this episode. We talk. Now." His brother's glare made Dean squirm.

Dean licked his lips and turned his head, but his eyes were still stuck on Sam, magnetized by his brother's hazel stare.  _ Did Sam know what a threat it was to do that? _

Dean shrugged, trying to relieve some of the tension from Sam's unyielding stare, and then turned the television off. One more glance at Sam and he felt his face tense into a snarl. His eyes went hard and threatening. Like glints of green glass underneath his brows. He got up to his feet while standing on the bed, looking down at his brother from the mattress.

Sam was shocked. It was like the incident with the pudding cup before they hunted Vesta. Dean wasn't all there. Perhaps if Sam did was Castiel did. He saw the instant calm that the former-angel gave his brother.

Sam stepped forward and he watched Dean stiffen. He reached for Dean, but then his brother punched him hard enough to knock him back. Sam was seeing stars and he stumbled back.

"What the hell Dean!" Sam yelled, barely enunciating the words through the pain. He put his hand to his face where his brother had clocked him. He attempted to grab Dean and incapacitate him, but his brother reacted impossibly fast, moved impossibly fast.

He dodged expertly. It was as if his eyes could see Sam in slow motion. He came close to his brother and then pushed him down. 

It wouldn't have been that bad, but Dean stood over him, posturing. An animal expression filled his eyes. They were in this stand off for what felt like a lifetime, but it was only about a minute. Finally, Dean's face softened and he averted his eyes. "Shit, Sammy. I… I didn't mean it."

Sam opened his jaw and moved it side to side, testing it. Nothing was broken, miraculously, but he already felt the swelling. He wiped at his lips, there was blood on his fingers.

"It's when you look at me like that. I can't help it. It… I don't know… it means something different now." Dean was trying to articulate to his brother the things that were going on in his head. He missed when it was just the two of them hunting things on the road in the Impala. Before the mistakes they had made this year. Those were better days.

He was supposed to protect Sam, but instead he caused him pain. That's all he had been doing for a long time, wasn't it? He offered his hand to help his brother up.

Sam's kept his scrutiny on his brother, not trusting him in this moment. And it made Dean feel on edge.

"Look man, I won't go all Cujo on you if you quit staring at me."

No answer. 

"It's all my fault, is it?" He scoffed.

Dean huffed and then turned around, picking up his coat and heading out. Sam watched his brother leave, slamming the door. 

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

The phone was vibrating. It buzzed loudly on the wood where Kevin was working. At first, it was like he didn't even hear it, but he did. It rang again and then stopped. Kevin was just honed into his task. Finally finding a place to stop, he grabbed the phone and waited. It rang again. "Hey."

"It's Sam." The way he spoke was muffled, like he had a mouthful of cotton. It took Kevin a second to get his brain calibrated to understand him.

"So, do you have news on the angels?"

The line was quiet for a while. "Dean isn't doing well. The whole case has gone sideways."

And it was there, like a punch to the gut. It was Kevin who had found the potion and he felt guilty about even suggesting they try it. He should have done more research into the effects, but he was running on vapor when he looked up the spell. And it seemed urgent that they get it.

"I thought he didn't want us looking up anything for it until we figure out the angel stuff."

"Look, Kev. He's really messed up. He hit me. Something came over him and he hit me. That's why I sound like this. My face is swollen."

"Okay, Sam. I'll come up with something," Kevin said. 

"Please Kev. It's not just this. You've seen how he gets."

The prophet thought of Dean's misbehavior and quirks over the past few weeks. It was the aggression that was the most alarming.

"Bye." Sam hung up, leaving the prophet alone with a new mission. 

Kevin got up and out of the chair to stretch. He had a crick in his neck from reading up on different things.  He rolled his neck slowly, relishing the feeling of his muscles slowly unwinding. It did little to relieve him, but the relief was well-appreciated. He picked up one of his notepads and flipped it to the spell that he had found months before.

\---

It was stupid really. Asking Crowley for help, but the prophet thought that it would save time. Especially because he was addicted to blood. He walked into the dungeon to find the King of Hell smiling, turning on his charm. Hands shackled, but clasped together on top of the table. Posture straight and regal. He was not going to lose his dignity in here, it would seem.

"You've come to kiss and make up with me, Kevin?"

"Shut up, Crowley."

"Now, that's no way to talk to your best friend," he said with a smirk that was vaguely flirtatious. He was simply picking on him.

Kevin felt the heat of rage, but he kept it bottled up. He wore a calm expression--at least as calm as he could muster. "Let's get this straight: You are not my friend." The words were like venom.

Crowley was unaffected. "Yet, here you are, stuck here with me. And the Winchesters are off on their crusade while you, the useless prophet, can't make heads or tails of the angel tablet." 

"You're wrong. They asked me to help them with the case." Kevin took out an empty syringe.

"You gonna dangle this carrot in front of me again? You know, fool me once and all that." He sounded bored.

Kevin grumbled. He had made a mistake the last time by breaking the unspoken contract of information for blood that he and Crowley had come up with. In an effort to repair that and start to get a more cooperative demon, Kevin stuck the syringe in his vein. His dark eyes glanced up and saw Crowley lean forward a little bit in anticipation. Kevin drew a little more than a cc of blood and gave it to the King of Hell. "I'm not apologizing for last time."

"Sure thing," Crowley said. He lifted his eyebrows. "You sure we aren't best friends? Besties share needles," he said as he stuck himself with the human blood. He felt the rush of it through his veins and sighed as if he were content. 

"So you really are addicted," Kevin said, almost disgusted. He pulled out another needle and pulled more blood from his arm. The Winchesters would probably get on his case when they got back, but it was too easy to manipulate an addict for information.

"Judgmental, are we?" Crowley said smoothly. His gaze flickered to the newly filled syringe and then back at Kevin. "So. What is it this time?"

The way he said it made Kevin all too aware that he had been asking a lot of help from the demon lately. "A spell." He put down the old Inuit spell that Dean had gotten. 

Crowley looked over it. His eyes revealed nothing about whether or not he recognized it.

"So, is it reversible?"

The King of Hell put his finger on the piece of paper and slid it back to Kevin. "Have you tried any cleansing spells?"

"Of course. A few actually." Kevin recalled all of the rituals and concoctions that Dean went through the first time the behavior resurfaced. It appeared to help a little bit at the time, but now, apparently Sam was feeling like Dean was spinning out of control.

The demon rolled his eyes. "That makes it harder to undo, idiots. Whoever wrote this made sure of that."

Crowley then asked, "How long has he been affected."

"A few weeks. Or months..."

Crowley gave a straight faced expression. "And you couldn't have asked me for help earlier? Please, continue. I'm sure in no time you can make a list of what not to do with a spell you have no idea about."

"Is… does that mean there's no cure?"

Crowley grin widened. "You've been around here long enough that there are ways to work around everything. Tell me which one is it."

"Which one?" Kevin was confused what he wanted from him.

"Obviously, they wouldn't ask for help and you wouldn't be desperate enough to ask  _ me _ unless it were one of the Winchesters. Now, on with it. Which one: Squirrel or Moose?"

Kevin looked down, but couldn't say Dean's name. He wouldn't. "You're wrong," he insisted.

Again, Crowley rolled his eyes. "Then what beast did they use for the potion?"

"Does it matter?"

_ "Does it matter?"  _ Crowley repeated mockingly. "Of course it bloody matters!"

Kevin decided he could share at least that much, "A dog."

The demon's face softened. "I quite like dogs," he said with a gentleness that surprised Kevin. "So, what's he been doing that makes you just want to stop dealing with it?"

"Possessive. He's hitting people. Chewing on things. He gets aggressive about his things. Apparently, he made a mess out of the case they're on…"

"I get it. He's a dog. He's not a wild animal. He just needs training--and you're lucky . Just have the boys work on that in the meantime."

Crowley raised his eyebrows expectantly and Kevin knew what the demon wanted. He pushed the syringe of his blood across the table. The demon picked it up and smiled to Kevin. "Will that be all for today?"

"My mom is still alive."

"Well, isn't that what I've been telling you," Crowley said in such a condescending tone that Kevin felt stabbed in the heart. The bit of human blood in the demon was making him feel sentimental. He felt a little bit guilty or ashamed, he wasn't sure which. It had been a long time since he could claim emotions like those. "Those boys call me a liar and a cheat and untrustworthy. And I am all of those things, truly. I am a demon, after all. But I never forget my roots."

The change of tone confused Kevin, who asked, "A 17th century tailor?"

"You remembered? How sweet. Are we going to hug it out now or just keep flirting?"

Kevin left; he had had enough of Crowley.

***

Castiel and Lively had finished their investigation at the crime scene hours ago. They sat across from each other at a Biggerson's, having ordered coffee. Lively had her laptop open. Cas took a sip of his black coffee and scowled.

"Why'd you order it if you don't even like it?" Lively said teasingly.

Instead of answering, he looked thoughtfully at the mug, head slightly tilted, eyes intent, as if he were trying to learn the answers. "I used to drink it before... " He sipped, this time letting his tongue sort through the flavors instead of rejecting the complex taste immediately like a child might. After contemplation, he decided that it wasn't too bad. "It could be sweeter."

Lively raised her eyebrows and riffled through the sugar packets before picking up two of them. Not wanting to risk the bumbling former-angel dropping any grains of sugar, she opened the packets into his coffee, leaning forward so much that she was half-standing as she did so. The necklaces she wore slid across the table. A spark of personality on her otherwise professional appearance.

"Now, stir it. With your spoon."

Cas gave a frustrated huff and said, pointedly, "I know that in order to completely dissolve the solute, I must stir with my spoon." He stirred the coffee.

"Sassa-Cas," she said his nickname as a gentle accusation. She typed more on the computer and slid her finger on the track pad as her eyes flickered about on the screen through her glasses. "No luck, by the way, with the research. How about on your end? The whole…  _ radio _ business."

"Nothing."

"Great," Lively said. 

Castiel drank the coffee and smacked his lips. 

"Well, what do you think about the coffee now?"

"It tastes better."

Lively picked up some half-and-half containers from table and offered one to the former-angel. "You can try some of these, too." 

He put it into his coffee. The taste transformed into something else. He was pleasantly surprised. "It tastes… different."

"Different good or different bad?"

He took another drink. "Good different, but I like both."

"Bummer, I like a man picky about his coffee." She smiled. "It makes it all the more special when you get his coffee right, you know?"

She pocketed the rest of the creams in the inside pocket of her suit-jacket. 

Castiel tilted his head as he watched her. "What are you doing?"

"Well, cream makes me tipsy, and after today, I think I need something to drink. Your boyfriend wanted to kill me, you know." She opened the little cup on the top and tipped the cream into her mouth. 

***

Dean was at a gas station, filling up the Impala. "You're lucky I love you, Baby," he said as he put an affectionate hand on the vehicle. The scent of gasoline was an assault to his sensitive sense of smell. But it helped that he was outside, which allowed the stink to dissipate somewhat in the open Wyoming air. He wasn't too far from the motel where Sam was. Most probably skulking. And Dean felt guilty for hitting him like that. He looked up at the moon and stars. They looked like ghosts of themselves in the twilit sky. When the gas was done pumping, he put it away and climbed into the Impala.

He felt his phone ringing.

Dean took it out of his pocket and saw that it was from Sam's phone. He answered it.

"Sammy?"

"You hit your brother. Rather hard." It was Sam's voice, but there was a distance to it which told Dean that it wasn't his brother.

"Zeke," Dean said.

"Sorry," the angel apologized.

The hunter paused and then asked. "How's Sammy?"

"I healed him."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause that will be real easy to explain. You know you make it impossible for me? You don't want me to tell Sammy, but you go and do things like this. How do I explain this? 'Hey Sammy, I just busted up your face, but it magically healed while you were zoned out?'"

"I see your point," Ezekiel said over the phone.

"... I want to tell him. I can't keep it from him anymore. I'm not… able to."

Ezekiel hung up on Dean, leaving the hunter alone under the stars. He shut his eyes. How the hell did it get to be such a goddamn mess? He turned the engine. He drove into the falling night with the windows down so that it pulled in the scent of the prairie. It was like smelling the whole of Wyoming and it made him sigh. So this was his life now?

***

Sam came to with his cellphone at his ear. Another blackout had happened. He pulled up the call history and saw that the last person he called was Dean. Which meant something which he had suspected: Whenever he blacked out, he became someone else, and this someone else knew Dean.

He ran a nervous hand through his long hair. This wasn't good, but he just had to keep himself together until he fixed his brother again. Sam fired up his laptop, wanting to start work on his end. He just couldn't do nothing.

He paused when he noticed that his jaw was no longer throbbing, that he couldn't feel the weight and ache of a swollen face. Sam got up and went into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. He saw his own face, perfect and unmarred. Tentatively, he brought a hand to his jaw, where Dean had hit him, to make sure what he saw was real. "Okay. Tell me this, at least. Am I crazy?"

And Sam felt it. Barely a thought. Barely understandable as a word, it was more a gut feeling than anything else:  _ No.  _ But it was communication. That was good.

"You're the one who healed me," Sam said, looking into the mirror.

_ Yes.  _ It was an alien feeling that he couldn't claim as his own. It barely even felt human. But Sam understood it as  _ yes. _ What it really felt like was certainty. His own body's certainty that what he had just said was the truth.

"Who are you?"

No answer. It was as if that question scared the entity away. Or perhaps, he couldn't answer clearly.

He stormed out of the bathroom, went into his duffle bag, and pulled out a knife. Then, he went back into the bathroom, staring at his own face in the grimy mirror. He held the knife in one hand and cupped the blade with his other hand. Then, he slashed his palm, letting blood drip into the sink. He was waiting for that moment, when he'd disappear and the other entity would take over. Sam watched, at the ready, his palm burning.

He blinked his eyes. He was sitting at the Formica table. His hand was healed. There wasn't even a scar in his palm. He wearily raised his head. He felt tired, as he always had. Though his body was strong, it was being shared by two consciousnesses--one of which wasn't even human. He looked at the computer screen. It was open to a word document.

_ This means of communication seems adequate. _

Sam frowned and then typed the next line:  _ Who are you? How do you know Dean? _

It looked like the words simply appeared on the screen as Sam lost another moment in time:  _ I am not here to hurt you. I know Dean because I've told him not to tell you about me. _

Sam sighed sharply in frustration. "And why not!"

Then, two sentences appeared like magic on the screen, replacing everything else he and the angel in him had typed thus far:  _ You are not well. The trials had destroyed you. _

Sam remembered Vesta's comment about him being broken inside. And that wasn't the first case in which the monster they were hunting said something along those lines about him. "Not well?"

Ezekiel took over again to type more on the laptop. He was still afraid of being booted and losing his chance at healing Sam. But the angel had grown to know the Hunter by being in him for the last few months. He knew the way his mind worked. 

_ I'm almost finished healing you and then I will leave, Sam. As soon as you want me to. I apologize for the friction I have caused between your brother and yourself. It was pleasant for me to be needed. I wish I had been brave enough to allow Dean to be honest with you like he had wanted to be. But I've never amounted to much of anything. I feel if he hadn't been affected by the spell, he would have had an easier time lying to you. Perhaps that isn't the best course of action for us. _

_ I admit I lack finesse when it comes to social interactions, having not been very practiced with them. Many times, I simply make Dean upset because I'm wearing your face, speaking with your voice, but I'm not you. Dean always knows when it's me and not you. It's uncanny. _

_ Please consider the possibility that we can continue our correspondence in this manner. I apologize for any disagreements I might have caused between you and your brother. _

Satisfied with his note, Ezekiel gave control back to the hunter. 

Sam's heart quickened when he saw the long note appear on the computer. He pushed his hair out of his face after he read it, digesting what it meant. He was silent for a few seconds. "You said you were healing me? You're an angel?" It made sense. 

He blinked and Ezekiel controlled the body, pushing Sam into the recesses of his subconscious. Ezekiel had Sam's long fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain whether or not to type out his name. He wanted to be completely honest, but couldn't risk it.  _ Yes. Call me Ezekiel. _

"How does it work? Am I your vessel?"

_ Technically you are not  _ my  _ vessel, but you are a strong vessel. You were going to die. My Grace has kept you alive. _

"I was ready to die," Sam murmured once he read the words on the laptop.

_ I understand that. But Dean was not ready to let you go. He asked for help. I came to help. _

Sam stewed in his anger. He had made the choice to sacrifice himself to close up Hell. But now, Abaddon wreaking havoc down there, Crowley was in their dungeon, and they needed to fix up Heaven because Metatron's spell had cast all of the angels out. "Out of all of them: Why you?"

_ I've made mistakes. It was my chance to redeem myself for everything wrong I have done. _

And when Sam came back, staring at the words on the laptop, he felt the overwhelming desire to simply feel loved and forgiven. They shared a body, after all. It made sense now. The alien emotions that sometimes would sweep over him. It made sense now why Dean was so insistent that Sam ignored him struggling through the after-effects of the potion. Sam could see now that his brother felt guilty over this whole mess.

 

***

Castiel and Lively sat in the Volvo at a parking lot. They were side by side: Lively in the passenger's seat, and Castiel acting as the designated driver. They both still wore their FBI attire, but by now the polished look had disappeared and they looked tired and like they were finally starting to relax. It was in the crumpled jackets, and the undone buttons of their shirts. Lively's necklaces were clearly visible, a tangle of chains that clinked together with every small movement she made. Little buckets of half-and-half scattered all over the dashboard of her Volvo.

Both of them were fatigued from a day of looking at crime scene photographs and the whole debacle that reuniting with the Winchesters had become. Plus, they were no closer to figuring out where the angels would appear next or what the factions were or anything than when they started this adventure.

Lively giggled quietly and then murmured something unintelligible in her old language, feeling tipsy from the cream she had, and nestled into her seat.

***

Dean had caught the scent of Castiel and Lively while he was driving and followed it in the Impala. It was strange to describe how he came across it. It was like his body reacted with happiness when he smelled him. And when he smelled Lively, caution and suspicion.

He parked his car down the street and used his nose to find the gray Volvo in the parking lot. Dean told himself that he was making sure Cas wasn't making a mistake for trusting the monster that he hunted with. He chastised his angel friend over and over again in his brain, thinking about how stupidly naive Cas must have been to go with this woman. About how he shouldn't have taken a case when he hardly knew how to be human. And, then, clearly, he could remember that moment earlier that day, when Cas touched him on his head, and ruffled his hair. It was soothing. Perhaps that was why he came this far. 

Standing tall and snorting, he contemplated walking up to the car and tapping on the window to let Cas know he was here. If he had his way, he wouldn't have kicked Castiel out of the Bunker. He would have fought Ezekiel on the matter if Sam's life didn't hang in the balance. Dean thought of Cas's wrists, bonier than they should be. He thought of his gaunt face. He hadn't been taking care of himself since the Gas-and-Sip in Rexford.  _ I'm sorry, Cas.  _

And he knew it was all his fault. He turned around to retreat back to the Impala. He needed to go back to Sam. He couldn't lose Sam, too.

\---

Dean steered the Impala into the parking lot of the motel. He thought he'd be more out of control because of today's events, but right now, he felt very level-headed. More than he had been for weeks. He didn't feel like a dog wearing a man's skin. He felt like himself. And he entered the motel room.

It wasn't Sam. Ezekiel stood awkwardly in the middle of the motel room. His posture was unnatural, too proper and stiff. He looked up at Dean. "You look well," Ezekiel stated, simply.

"Like a million bucks," Dean replied coldly. He crossed his arms. He had wanted to come home to Sam.

"I told Sam," Ezekiel said softly and saw the change in Dean's body language.

Dean steeled himself for bad news.  _ I'm awake... I'm here instead of Sam because if I'm not, he would have rejected me and he would then die. Sam hates you because you allowed me to possess him.  _ And at the end of the day, Dean realized that he would have no Sam. He didn't even have Cas anymore.

"He hasn't cast me out, yet," Ezekiel said. "He's aware that I'm in his head, too. I just wanted to tell you. He… wants to talk with you." 

And his eyes flashed blue and then Sam came back. He had to take a moment to understand what was going on, but he saw Dean in front of him. His brother, shaken to the core, though, like always, he was trying to hide it. They both were.

"Well, glad to see you're back again, Sybil," He smiled to his brother, trying to make the air between them light again. He clapped his brother on the arm affectionately.

Sam shrugged off his brother's contact. "I know about the angel," Sam said, darkly.

"I didn't have a choice."

"So, you tricked me into being possessed by an angel?" His temper had cooled compared to when he was arguing with the angel residing in his head. It was hard to get as mad at something the second time around, especially after the realization that he needed to be the strong one because Dean had only a tenuous grasp on his humanity.

"He saved your life."

Sam was about to say again that he was ready to die, but after some contemplation, he wondered if he truly was. At the moment, he had been convinced that his sacrifice was worth it. Now, he didn't know how Dean could have stayed alive without him. The world still needed the Winchesters, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Ever since that day, ten years ago, the world had needed them. Sam chewed softly on his lip. He had no retort.

Dean had made so many mistakes, but he was convinced that finding a way to keep Sam alive wasn't one of them. The pregnant silence between them grew and grew. "How about this: No more secrets."

Sam raised his eyes and echoed. "No more secrets."

"Well, now that that's taken care of," Dean said. "I need a shower. Gotta wash the feelings off of me."

\---

They got ready for bed. Guns under the pillow, salt lines at the windows and doors. And Sam settled into one of the beds while Dean finished brushing his teeth. His brother walked over to his bed and hopped in.

Sam turned his head and raised his eyebrows. He had just witnessed a small miracle: Dean hadn't paced in circles before getting into the bed.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked.

"Like a real boy," Dean replied.

"So, I think you were on to something when you said the cases helped you out. Think it's a clue on how to fix you?"

Dean shrugged. "Probably." He yawned and nestled into his pillow. Sam switched off the lamp. They'd tackle that issue tomorrow. Today had been a long day.


	9. Aggressive Mimicry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the breather chapter! Ha, just kidding. Naw, this one is another heavy hitter. I try to add fluffs in there, too though. But barely. So, recap: Sam knows about Ezekiel. They are starting to get on track about how to manage Dean's condition a bit better. Lively and Cas are in town. Kevin uses Crowley for information.
> 
> I know it's a day late, but... this chapter was crazy to write and I rewrote a lot of it several times, removed some scenes, added others.

***

_ Caribou, Wyoming _

Lively mumbled awake. She wiped the drool from her mouth and smacked the sleep from her lips. The morning sun was much too bright. She shielded her eyes while she looked around. She had slept in the Volvo and she could already feel that her legs were stiff. It didn't matter too much except that when her legs were stiff, it meant she moved stiffly. When she moved stiffly, she wasn't as good at using her glamour to hide her hooves.

She noticed Castiel wasn't in the car. She was in the passenger's side and she wondered why for a moment until she noticed the little buckets of half-and-half strewn about the interior of her car.  _ Right.  _ She pushed herself out of the car and found Castiel outside, hands in his pocket. His suit jacket was wrinkled. He, too, had slept in his suit. He had his head tilted slightly as he looked at the horizon line.

She tapped her hooves against the asphalt in an attempt to shake the sleep out of them. When Castiel came back, she crossed her arms. "So, what's the word, baby bird?" She softened when she saw the grief in his eyes. "Uh, take your time."

"They're announcing angels who have died last night. Apparently, there was another attack." He concentrated. "I know one of the factions is Bartholomew's. I still can't figure out the second faction."

Lively frowned, not knowing how to comfort him in this moment.

"I wish I could do something," he said.

She looked to him. He was haggard and thin. Bags under his eyes from all the worry. Lips chapped from dehydration. And the look he wore was haunted. He looked worse today than he did yesterday. She tried to select the right words. "Take care of yourself first, hon," she said. "You look awful. How about something to eat?"

"Food is not of import."

_"Bullshit,"_ Lively said. "You need to eat."

Castiel shrugged before he grudgingly admitted, "Perhaps I should find something to eat." Without the homeless shelter or peer pressure from humans, he tended to forget he was supposed to eat and drink. Though he was definitely something other than human, he had needs that he should be more on top of.

***

The Winchesters had woken up early. They had a routine that they kept to when they were on the road, on a case. And Dean found it comforting to follow it. They woke up to some classic rock, Dean lip syncing with his usual amount of enthusiasm. They brushed their teeth, got dressed, and got ready for their day. Sam was looking for Dean doing anything that was out of the ordinary, but he saw nothing of it. Perhaps working cases really did cure him--at least temporarily--but Sam had no idea why it would. The important thing now was working the case while Dean was in his right mind. He was going to have to touch bases with Kevin later. No doubt that the prophet would have gotten some more progress than he had.

Dean jumped on the bed and lay on his back. He had taken out the worn tennis ball and that raised alarms in Sam's head until he saw his brother tossing it up in the air and catching it. At least he wasn't chewing on it or slobbering on it. In fact, the way he was throwing it up in the air could have easily been something he would have done before the spell.

"You brought that on a hunt?" Sam asked, though he knew his brother had pocketed it right before they had left. He said nothing then, not wanting to get into a fight with his older brother over something as petty as worn out tennis ball. But now, Sam was feeling pissy and tired due to the trials, uncomfortable in his own skin that he was playing host to an angel, and he knew he was dangerously close to reneging on his agreement to be less judgmental when his brother slipped up.

"Yeah," Dean replied. He caught the ball and sat up in a fluid motion. He watched Sam's face carefully. "Remember when I was a vampire?"

Sam's eyebrows drew together. The memory was not a good one. He had allowed Dean to turn in order to access the Alpha's nest. He was soulless at the time. He wondered why Dean was dredging up such a terrible moment in both their lives.

"It's like that, but instead of wanting to drain some red-blooded person, I want to play ball and piss on things. It ain't that bad, Sammy. So sometimes,  _ maybe _ , you toss a ball for me, once in awhile."

Sam paused at the request. He hadn't tossed a ball for Dean since that day in Enid. He refused to help reduce his brother into being anything less than human. Sam stared evenly at Dean and conceded. "Fine. Maybe. Once in awhile." 

He hated agreeing to it, but felt that perhaps Dean was right. The force he was trying to dam wasn't the urge to kill; it was comparatively innocuous: He just wanted to play ball. Sam's eye contact didn't let up, as he watched his brother to see the clues. If he really was as clear headed as he appeared this morning or if his brain was flooded with dog instincts. This was the man who raised him. He was his brother, his best friend, and more of a parent than their dad had been. And now, he was asking if they could play  _ fetch _ sometime.

"Sounds good," Dean said. "Well, I saw a diner when I was driving last night and thought it might be a good place to get some eats. Whaddaya say?"

And it was like the world went back to normal. Sam had to latch onto whatever shred of normalcy they had. Between being possessed by an angel and his brother's situation, he wanted to fall back on comfortable routines. "Let's go."

\---

Dean drove the Impala to the diner. Sam settled in the passenger's seat. 

Dean turned on some classic rock, but the volume had gotten quieter and quieter over the weeks. His ears were keener now. The brothers stewed in the awkward silence. They had gotten more common lately. It was merely a by-product of the subjects that had become off-limits lately.

They didn't want to talk about the mind-meld thing. About how the ebb and flow of Dean's instincts nearly cost them the case and how badly he had hit his brother because he  _ looked at him _ in the wrong way. And that weird thing about Cas touching him. About how overall, it didn't seem to be getting better.

They didn't want to talk about Ezekiel. About how Dean had managed to get an angel in Sam without his true consent. There was an angel  living in Sam. About how Sam went months believing he was just going insane. Or that he hid how scared and worried he was about himself because he was scared and worried about Dean's mental state more than his own.

They didn't want to talk about Castiel and the fact that Dean had almost killed his new friend--who was working a case. Who might be a monster. Or might be a hunter. And how or why Cas had left the Bunker in the first place. About how he looked more run-down and haggard.

All there was left to talk about was the case and that was good enough for the brothers.

"Got anything?" Dean asked before clarifying. "On the case?"

"Actually, I identified the bikers while you were out," Sam said. He wasn't going to ask Dean what he did just yet during that time. He didn't want to end up in another needless fight. Their arguments seemed to bring the dog out of Dean even more. And Sam hated seeing it.

"Hacked forensics?"

"Yeah, but the results didn't come back yet, so it didn't tell me anything. But I found the photographs of the crime scene and noticed a logo on the jacket. 'Boyle's Boys.'"

"So, Boyle's at it again. Selling folks on being meat suits for angels," Dean said as he drove.

"Just what--talking to smaller groups now?"

"I don't know. Maybe, uh, softening up thousands at a time, he wasn't able to control what angels got let in. This way, Bartholomew's followers can jump in just as soon as Boyle does his thing." Dean said.

"So, all of these guys are Bartholomew's people?"

"Yeah, and they got slaughtered. Which means that these new guys are worse." Dean huffed. "Have I mentioned angels are dicks?"

***

The Robertson Diner definitely had seen better days. New wallpaper, but the carpet was old and stained. Booths were well-worn. The tables were chipped on some places. Lively and Castiel slid into a booth after following their server. The waitress was a perpetually bored young woman who was probably working here because her last name was Robertson.

"See, Cas? This is so much better than a Biggerson's," Lively said. They had since changed their clothes. Lively wore her usual attire. Bra-less under a camisole and wearing a long skirt. Her necklaces clinked together. Castiel wore a shirt and jeans. 

She took one of the menus. They were printed on computer sheet paper, yellowed, and slid into plastic sleeves bought from a department store. "This diner has been in the family for four generations," she stated. "Active since the forties."

The diner looked like each generation added decorations without bothering to take the last generation's down. Clutter filled the wall shelves. Random things from a jar full of marbles to cheap Betty Boop figurines to family portraits. The diner itself was not very full. The current patrons were all over forty and it looked like they came here just because this was where they had eaten their breakfast for the past few decades.

Cas stared down at his menu, unsure of if he wanted something he knew he'd enjoy or if he wanted to taste something new. The waitress came and got their orders for drinks. The two of them ordered coffee.

***

Dean caught sight of the gray Volvo sitting in the parking lot of the diner. "Look who's here."

Sam followed his gaze and saw the rust-flecked car sitting in the parking lot from the Impala. "We can go somewhere else if you want, Dean." He was remembering the last time his brother met Lively.

"Naw, I'm okay," Dean said as he parked his Impala in one of the many empty spaces. 

"You sure? You wanted to kill Cas's friend last time."

"I'm fine, Sammy. We're going." 

\---

The brothers entered the diner. A bell jingled to announce their arrival. A bored waitress came up. She sighed. Her hair and eyes were dark. As soon as she saw the flannel clad boys, her expression brightened. She grinned. "Hello," she said. "I'll take you to your seats." 

Dean saw Castiel, who was wearing a button-down shirt that hung loosely on his thinner frame. And a pair of jeans with a belt cinched tighter than it was designed to go. He had poked a couple holes in the leather belt to keep everything from falling down. He was speaking with Lively. They hadn't yet gotten their food yet. So they must not have been here long. He poked his brother and gestured with a tilt of his head. Sam nodded without moving his head. Dean just knew it was a nod.

Cas looked dejected, like someone had kicked his puppy. And Lively was smiling as she gesticulated, engrossed in telling a joke or two in order to try to get his spirits up. She leaned forward as she spoke, her necklaces dragged along the table. Dean could hear the metal and stone scraping against the worn oilcloth on the table in a subtle noise--if he concentrated. The words were harder to hear and harder to make out.

Dean needed to make sure that Cas was okay.

"Sam," Dean said quietly. "I think I might be able to listen in on their conversation."

"How do you plan to--" Sam didn't have to finish the question on the tip of his tongue.  _ How do you plan to do that? _ But he knew the answer: Dean's senses were sharper. "I see." He didn't feel comfortable about spying on Castiel, but felt that Dean needed it. Besides, he was interested as well. 

They took their seats someplace inconspicuous. Dean looked uncomfortable not watching them. He bowed his head, straining his ears to listen. Sam looked on, worried. Every time he tried to speak, he'd receive a mean glare from his brother and a "Shut your pie hole, Sammy."

***

"Hon," Lively said as she reached to touch Cas's arm comfortingly. "You can stop beating yourself up. And stop trying to prove yourself to those boys."

Castiel had his faraway stare. He withdrew his arm and shook her touch off like she was a bug. She thought the contact was too much for him and folded her hands in her lap. 

But he said, matter-of-fact, after sipping his coffee. "I can see why Dean appreciated being stroked on his head."

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Castiel glanced out of the window, seemingly ignoring her, but she was used to his wandering gaze. "No." But he had read Dean's mind. It was a mess in there. His thoughts were fragmented, simple, emotional. Different from how it used to be, but he could feel that his soul was the same one he had pulled from the depths of Hell several years ago.

Instead of talking about Dean, he talked about their current case. "Bartholomew is vying for control. I don't know the other faction's motivation, but I can guess: The other faction may have been aligned with Raphael. This war echoes the recent civil war."

"You won that one, right?"

Castiel's face became like stone. "There were no winners. We both did terrible things. And the ones who followed us did terrible things. All for the  _ greater good _ . But it's impossible for good to come out of this. I've experienced the outcome of _the ends justify the means."_ He worried. She hated to see him worry.

"Hey, hon." Her eyes became softer. "Give me your hand."

He obeyed her and offered his right hand. She reached for his hand and put hers on top of it. She smoothed her thumb over the back of his hand while singing a gentle tune. It unwound the tenseness in Castiel. He felt himself drawn to her and leaned forward, straining his ears to catch her gentle words.

She sang quietly enough that the nearby tables couldn't hear her words. Her whisper flowed out of her in a windy, flowing voice. He relaxed.

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

Kevin had been stuck on figuring out the pattern for Dean's instincts. He figured that figuring out what made him tick would make him easier to manage.

Some cases, Dean usually came home level-headed and normal. But that wasn't the pattern because in other cases, the improvement would be small or almost non-existent. There was even that time when there had been no case at all and he was back to his old self. Kevin needed more information to flesh out a cure. He sent Sam an email.

The prophet's self-esteem over the last few days had been improved. Research that actually led somewhere boosted his confidence. Instead of trying over and over again to figure out how to reverse the spell of that threw the angels out of heaven and burned up their wings, he had been finding actual answers to the problems which currently plagued the Winchesters. All that was left was contacting them to collect more information so that he could move on with his research.

He looked at the list of names of angels which might have taken over Sam. He had made three different lists. The first list with the names of angels which had what he considered the smallest crimes--things that he didn't even consider  _ bad _ . That seemed so insignificant that he was sure that there was nothing wrong with it. Another list which consisted of angelic misdemeanors (in his opinion). And a final list of names who have committed the worst of the worst crimes: Asbeel, Gadreel, Sammael, and a whole class of angels called the Grigori, plus many more names. He hoped that the angel's name wouldn't be on his Heaven's Most Wanted list. It'd be better if he didn't recognize the angel's name at this point.

Kevin looked at the piles of books and papers surrounding him. He scrubbed a hand to his face.  _ Stay awake _ .

***

Dean shut his eyes and concentrated on Cas's low, rough voice and Lively's silken one. Their words murmured quietly and he had to really think in order to pull their conversation out of the other noises in the diner. He turned his head slightly, trying to adjust to find the point where his ears could best hear what was going on. He heard a little to know that Cas didn't feel competent any more. And then the conversation turned to something which was case-relevant.

"Anything?" Sam asked impatiently.

After a minute of ignoring his younger brother, Dean said, "So, the other faction may have been related to Raphael. Zeke? You know any names?"

Sam looked at Dean. "Still me." He shrugged. It was obvious that Sam didn't like being occasionally controlled by another entity, but he also understood how helpful knowledge of the other angels could be in this situation. They just had to ask Ezekiel who were possibly the angels, under Raphael, who would have filled that power vacuum.

The brothers waited for a second. Sam didn't lose time and Dean continued to figure out what they were saying. "I guess he's not coming?"

"Awesome. Zeke, I know you can hear us. What gives?" Dean said in an impatient growl. And then, he heard Cas and the woman's voices growing quieter. He strained his ears to hear a gentle song. The voice was beautiful, otherworldly, and drew him towards her.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam said as his brother stood up.

Dean moved towards the origin of the voice, enchanted by the song that only he could hear. Sam got up, grabbed at his brother, pretending that he didn't feel him flinch under his touch. He attempted to drag him back to the table, but Dean resisted the entire time, causing a small scene which disturbed the people nearest to their table.

"Sorry, we're leaving," Sam said to the waitstaff while leaving a sizable tip on the table, frustrated that he couldn't even have breakfast at a diner with his brother anymore.

\---

Lively stopped singing when the Winchesters made the slight ruckus in the diner.

Castiel looked dazed for a few seconds. He had to admit he was more relaxed, but he felt a little violated that she could change his mood so easily. He craned his neck to catch sight of the Winchesters. Dean looked ashamed and resigned to his fate while Sam looked embarrassed and angry. They left the diner. Castiel followed.

Lively sat at the booth, smiling sheepishly.

***

Dean pulled away from Sam's grip, "What the hell, man!"

Sam hated how much they were arguing lately, but he couldn't help it. His brother was so far from acting normal that it freaked him out. And he was taking it out on Dean. He knew it and understood it, but Dean was being stupid. "I thought you were having a good day, but you know what? It was a bad idea."

"Stop it. It has nothing to do with my… issue," Dean said. "There is something else going on. I think it's that bitch with hooves that Cas is spending time with. I heard her singing."

"You mean that Lively girl you  _ tried to kill _ the last time you met her?"

" _ Lively? _ You have the hots for her or something? That's why you're defending her?" Of course, Dean took her name as an adjective. 

"Dean you are being ridiculous!"

Castiel stepped right into their argument, defusing it with a simple fact: "Dean is right. She's not human."

As if on cue, Lively left the diner, holding two plates of food which was covered in plastic wrap as if she had done that herself. "Hurry up boys!" she said as she ran out of the diner. Inside, everyone was perfectly still, blinking out of their daze like Cas had been earlier.

"Why must we hurry?" Castiel asked, obstinately.

"Because, Sassa-Cas, we just dined-and-dashed." She grinned. "Heh, that rhymed." She reconsidered her words. "Well, kinda." 

She pushed the food into Cas's hands, but he stayed immoveable, planting his feet so that she could not budge him. She sighed and said, "Fine, have it your way. I'll be around. I still owe you."

She hopped in her gray Volvo and drove away.

Dean, Sam, and Castiel were left in the diner parking lot. Helplessly, Cas looked at Dean and Sam. "What does 'dined-and-dashed' mean?"

"Shit," Dean said as he took the keys out of his pockets.

"Nuh-uh, I'm driving," Sam said, opening his hands. Dean rolled his eyes before tossing the keys. He hated arguing with Sam. He was tired of it, but most of all, he was afraid it will bring out his worst again. And he didn't want Cas to see him at his worst.

Sam caught them and Dean hurried to take shotgun. Cas went to his usual place in the back, smiling despite the tension between brothers. It had been a long time since he sat in the muscle car, in such close quarters with the Winchesters. He put the food on his lap. The plates were still warm.

Dean was unsettled, staring out of the window, shoulders rising in tension. Muted because he was swallowing the instinct to growl. He could smell Lively on Castiel. She still smelled like blood. He could smell the french toast and the eggs and bacon and gravy and biscuits. He could smell the interior of the Impala. An olfactory history of his car. He could smell  _ everything _ . He looked out of the windows.  _ No, not everything. Just everything in the Impala. _

"Cas…" Sam said. 

"What is it, Sam?"

"Why'd you leave the bunker?"

Dean looked to Cas quietly. He still couldn't talk.  _ Great. Another reason for Sam to hate me. Now Cas is going to tell him that I kicked him out. Why can't I get a break? _

Castiel had difficulty reading Dean's mind, but he understood what was asked of him. "I was useless to you," he told Sam cryptically.

And Dean was appreciative that the former angel didn't elaborate more than that, but he also knew that Cas could only tell the truth. He whined, unable to voice a true apology, which caused Sam to brush him on his shoulder in an attempt to distract him. An automatic gesture from a brother worried that the person who he cared about most in the world was losing his humanity. 

Curious, Castiel slipped his consciousness into Sam's mind and heard the brotherly,  _ Come back, Dean. _ But that wasn't all that the former-angel read: When Castiel was in Sam's mind, he also saw how broken it was. How ruined his body was. He should not be this functional. He should not be driving the Impala.

\---

Dean, Sam, and Castiel made it to the motel room. Castiel started eating his eggs and bacon at the table. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite, and then he started eating so quickly that he almost choked at times. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam's anger towards each other had lost a lot of its steam. They couldn't stay mad when Castiel was eating breakfast in their motel room. In fact, Dean was ecstatic, he was beaming. He was bouncing his leg, unable to sit still.

The former angel looked from one Winchester and then to the other. He could just barely hear the questions looming in their minds if he pushed his hardest. Dean's disjointed thoughts, brimming with the electricity of emotion. Sam's thoughts, hard to read through the haze of damage and what felt like several wards locking him out. "I have been hunting," the former-angel said simply, deciding that it was as good a place as any to start. 

"What happened to working your way up the Gas-and-Sip ladder?" Dean asked. "Staying out of angel stuff? Staying  _ safe? _ " He sat in the chair at Castiel's left hand. His words were faster paced than Cas remembered. He did a quick mental check and could see Dean was doing his best to stay still, in the chair.

"I could not stay in Rexford," the former-angel said, simply.

Sam understood. Castiel was a hunter now. That means he should be treated like one. "What was your last hunt?" Sam asked, taking the space in the table across from the former-angel.

"A Will-o'-the-Wisp."

Dean whistled. "Never ganked one of those yet."

Things were starting to feel comfortable again. Sam felt like he made a right choice. Cas was here now. Instead of the world just spiralling out of control, a little bit more was right in it.

They let Castiel finish explaining about the Will-o'-the-Wisp and its blue fire. About how he thought the fae was a ghost at first. About learning the ways to fight a fairy. About fae wards. About cold iron and salt. About how his angel blade could kill the 'Wisp. About the fae contract with the Winograds. About how he brought the creature back to life. 

"Wait, what?" Dean forced Castiel to pause the story.

"I had him resurrected," Cas repeated.

"So, you ganked the bitch. And brought him back. Awesome." Dean crossed his arms. "Cas. You  _ suck _ as a hunter."

"I've been told that by Lively." He paused and then added, "She's observant."

"Lively?" Dean finally realized that that was her name. "Really? Her name is Lively?"

"No, that's her nickname," Cas explained.

"Well, obviously!"

"So, what is she?" Sam asked.

"A Glaistig, I think," Castiel said. Then, he remembered that humans should reciprocate when interacting with each other. "What have you and Dean hunted lately?"

Sam smiled. "We had blue fire in our most recent case as well." He and Dean tag-teamed their story about Vesta.

They smiled and laughed. They wanted to pretend that they were all a team again, fighting the same cause. Relying on each other to win. Team Free Will. Not this fractured little trio trying their darndest not to fall apart.

\---

And then the moment was gone. Castiel observed, watching the scene implode. He was, more or less, at a loss for words.

The mailman was delivering mail and Dean was at the window, trying to keep from yelling and threatening the man, and, strangely enough, honestly struggling. Castiel didn't understand his desire to behave in that way or why it took him so much effort to refrain. 

"Dean. Sit down," Sam said without a single shred of patience. He was reading an email sent by Kevin, sitting on his bed.

Dean whined as he pulled himself away from the window and plopped himself in the chair.

"Sammy." And Sam looked up to see Dean was holding the ball in his hand. 

And Sam still had no clue how to help his brother. After cases, he seemed okay, but this time, he had reverted so soon. What was different? Was it Cas?

But Sam was tired of his brother acting like a fool. He wanted  _ his _ Dean back. The one who could crack one-liners and who would never behave in the way he was doing right now. The one who oozed charisma and competence. The one who took care of him when he was a child. Raised him. The one who he could rely on. He couldn't rely on this strange dog-brained version of his brother. And it was his concern that made him harsh. 

"Do you really think it will help you?" Sam asked Dean.

Dean nodded, mutely. He was struggling with his words again. Castiel couldn't hear thoughts as much as he could feel what Dean wanted: For the tennis ball to be thrown.

Castiel noted Sam's reluctance. "I'll do it," he volunteered. 

Sam relaxed. He could not subject his brother to this just yet. He was mad at his brother and worried that he'd never be normal again. And he was getting worse and worse, Sam thought. But at least Cas was here.

***

Gripping the tennis ball in his hand, Castiel moved outside into the midday sun. Dean raced ahead and came back, impatient and mute. The former-angel walked to the end of the asphalt, where a huge prairie opened up behind the motel. It was fairly isolated here. Perhaps the Winchesters had planned it this way. What they were going through right now seemed to appreciate privacy.

Castiel stood in the yellowed grass and threw the ball as far as he could. Dean ran after it, compulsively. He was running so hard that his lungs burned. 

Cas didn't have that stamina anymore. From where he stood, he watched the way Dean moved as he ran. It was slightly different. It was as if his own body understood how to make his movements more efficient. He ran back to Castiel, ball in hand, just as quickly as he went out to fetch the far-flung ball.

They played until Dean was panting and sat in the dry, prickly grass. Arms propped behind him as he leaned back, clothes disheveled, but with a content, open smile on his face. Castiel lowered his body next to him. Dean stiffened, too aware of what he had been doing earlier. His mind thought of the Border collie in the park in Lebanon. 

"You are still you," Castiel said.

"You say that, even though I wiped myself playing with a tennis ball."

The former-angel shrugged. 

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said. "I need you. Sam… Sam doesn't get it. He tries, but he doesn't get it."

"So, I  _ 'get it' _ ?" Cas broke out the air quotes.

"Probably not. Nobody does," Dean scoffed, a smile on his face. "But I prefer oblivious to bitchy."

***

Sam looked at the email that Kevin had sent him. Kevin wanted  _ more _ information about Dean's condition. If they could pinpoint the pattern of Dean getting better and worse, then perhaps that would lead them to a cure. At least that was what the email suggested. Information. Sam blinked and saw the word document was up with one line of text next to the blinking line of a cursor.

_ Sam. We need to talk. _

"Okay… then talk," Sam said.

_ Castiel. _

"Dude. One word messages? Really? I'm not even conscious when you take control. How do you expect me to figure out--"

_ He's not safe to be around. _

Sam blinked and felt angry. Well, that explained Zeke's no-show at the diner. "Look. Two things. One. Don't interrupt me when I'm talking. Two. We're keeping Castiel."

_ What about the Glaistig? _ And behind the word document, there were now several open tabs of lore about the creature. Some fairy creature with hooves, that sang a song that drew men to her so she could suck her blood. She didn't sound like a nice monster to be around. But that's when Sam realized that perhaps what happened at the diner wasn't Dean's fault. That his brother was a little bit more justified in his actions if he could see Lively's true form. 

"Ezekiel… this whole situation is too much right now. I need… I need something: Castiel is hanging around with a vampiric faun, Dean is… not himself, and  _ sometimes... _ you're me. I just need to touch base with Kevin or something." Sam paused.

He came back to a few words on the screen:  _ Very well.  _ And his ear was pressed into the cellphone.

Kevin was finishing up the sentence. "I think knowing the extent of the effects might be a good start. That way we can have a baseline to start working from."

Sam swallowed a wad of saliva. He was completely lost as to what they were talking about. "Uh."

He could hear Kevin's breath stop on the other end. "Sam? Am I still talking to Sam? Or is this… the other guy now?"

"You know Ezekiel?"

"No. But now I know for sure. I had to figure it out on my own." He could hear the relief lifting Kevin's voice. "You were spacing out and talking strange sometimes."

"What were we talking about before the conversation changed?"

"Dean. We were talking about Dean," Kevin said. "You, well Ezekiel, was saying he's acting very doggy recently. Try to see how much of a dog he is."

Sam sighed. "He could hear a conversation from across a diner. Does that count?"

"Yeah."

"When Dean hit me, I tried to hit back, but he reacted too quickly."

"Hey, hit me up with as many examples as you can by email. The more detailed, the better."

\---

Castiel and Dean came in not too long afterward, and Sam grunted a quick greeting to the pair. Dean looked content and not as intense as he had been. He took a quick shower, just to rinse off his sweat. When he finished, but was still getting dressed, he called out, "Cas! You're next once I'm done!" They had already agreed that Cas could borrow some of Dean's clothes to change into.

Cas started removing his clothes in the room and Sam was too engrossed in his laptop to notice. He was researching more about the Glaistig. He glanced up to see Castiel shirtless. His eyes bugged. His friend was thin, ribby. 

"Have you been eating?"

"Yes, I eat," he replied smartly. He then added, "It's just been hard to find food, lately."

Inside Sam, Ezekiel knew he was going to lose the fight to keep Castiel away. Neither brother wanted him gone. And honestly, the angel wasn't sure he could turn him away anymore. The former-angel was too pathetic and too loved.

"What's that?" Sam nodded towards the tattoo that was near the bottom of his ribcage. 

"It keeps the angels from being able to track me. It works the same as the sigils on your ribs."

And then, Cas started pulling his pants off. Sam fully expected boxers or briefs. Not full-frontal nudity. And that's when Dean came out.

He held still as Castiel moved past him, shamelessly naked, arms full of Dean's clothes, hoping not to get brushed by his friend's junk on accident. Thin. The door shut.

"So, Cas just stripped down," Sam said. 

Dean's mouth quirked into a smile. "And Sammy liked it."

"Shut up."

"Don't deny it."

Sam grinned. His brother seemed back. Perhaps playing with the tennis ball did help Dean. He considered what it meant, as far as his brother's condition went. He was used to the idea that giving in to the need made things worse. He thought bitterly about his addiction to demon blood and the power it granted him. He was in a dark place there. And it was why he was struggling so much with Dean's condition. Sam had to fight so hard to win back his humanity, over and over again. Demon blood. Soullessness. Insanity. And now he was possessed. It was almost unfair. And Dean? He typically wallowed and accepted what happened to him. His heart condition and most of that year when he had sold his soul to save him.

He contemplated quietly while Dean started putting up their wall. He put the map up. He got up to help his brother. They were on a real case now. And it felt good to be back in the saddle. Sam realized that if he was going to collect information on how doggy Dean really was, he'd have to observe him instead of look away.

"Hey Dean. I think I'll play fetch with you next time… you need it."

"Where's this coming from?" Dean said as he helped set up the wall, putting up the articles which Sam had printed out. They unwound some string and attached them to the connections they had made so far in the case. 

"So, Lively--"

"Can't believe her name is  _ Lively _ ."

"--is a Glaistig. And they have hooves. And they sing to lure men to them." That was as close to an apology as Sam was going to give Dean.

Dean wore his  _ I told you so _ grin. "So, why can I see her true form? Is it related to the mind-meld thing?"

"No. So, uh, remember when you got abducted by fairies?"

"Don't remind me. That day sucked."

"A Glaistig is a fae--a type of fairy. When you enter their realm, you are able to see past their glamour--which is a sort of perception magic. Explains why the cops didn't see anything amiss at the crime scene when, well..." They still couldn't talk about it. The moment that Dean sort of imploded.

Castiel came out of the bathroom. His hair was still wet. Dean's clothing was too big on him, but he wore the buttoned down shirt well. He held the jeans up so they wouldn't fall down.  


Sam chuckled. He just remembered that Cas hadn't been wearing underwear when he wore his last pair.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked. 

Castiel walked across the room, still holding onto the pants. When he started taking the belt from his other pair of jeans, he lost his grip on the ones he was wearing and they fell off of him.

"Oh, come on! Since when do you go commando!"

***

Kevin stood across from Crowley. The demon couldn't help but notice the self-satisfied expression on the prophet's face. "That smug expression really brings out the color of your eyes," the King of Hell said.

"You were wrong."

"Wrong about  _ what? _ "

"About the angel in Sam. He's not a fugitive."

"Oh? Then, what pray tell is his name?"

"Ezekiel," Kevin said plainly, feeling like he was on top of the world.

"Well, that's wonderful," Crowley said, wearily. "So, is that what you came here for? To gloat?"

Kevin stared at the demon. "Luck is turning our way. We will fix heaven." And he was feeling high from the relief of knowing the angel's name. And Kevin added. "You will tell me where my mother is."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

"Worse," Kevin said.

Then, Crowley leaned back as far as he could while wearing the shackles. He looked poised, but relaxed in his position. Regal and powerful despite the chains that bound him. It was all a show, Kevin surmised; Crowley did have his pride. 

"Now, how about you let me out of this bloody place? I just want to stretch my legs." He looked around the dungeon.

"I won't do that. That's stupid."

Crowley smirked.

Kevin narrowed his eyes. He tried to remember how Crowley had intimidated him earlier by slamming his hands on the table. Kevin didn't even make the demon flinch the last time he did that. But he remembered the ire most of all. He could be angry, too. It was sudden. He had to save it. Now wasn't the right time for explosiveness. Now, he had to think. What did Crowley want? The blood was easy. "We can talk later if you prefer," his voice was cold as ice and then he smiled. "But I can't give you your fix if you aren't cooperative."

"Your interrogation techniques could use some work. Do you even know what you're doing?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. Inquisitive wrinkles lined his forehead while a mischievous gleam sparkled in his eyes.

"From where I stand, you are the one in shackles and I'm the one demanding information from you,  _ Crowley _ ." Kevin spat the demon's name out like it was a poison.

He rolled his eyes. "As I was saying. Here are some tips: Build a rapport. Make the other party believe you are harmless. It goes further than intimidation believe it or not." Crowley leaned forward. 

Kevin pulled out the holy water from his inside jacket pocket. "Stop it or  _ else _ ." He could see that Crowley was merely amused by his threat. 

"That's adorable. I hope you're taking notes, my little prince," he taunted.

Kevin splashed the contents of the flask onto Crowley who easily shrugged it off. Quietly, he said,  _ "Christo…"  _ But Crowley didn't flinch, his eyes didn't change. And then, quietly, the boy asked, "Are you even a demon anymore?"

Crowley continued, not bothering to explain what he was now, "Distract with an easy-to-exploit weakness. For example. I needed blood, but I didn't tell you what I needed it for."

And Kevin realized something. The reason why Crowley had smirked. The prophet  _ was  _ stupid. He had been played the entire time. The human blood wasn't an addiction. The King of Hell had been making himself more and more human so he could escape.

He raised his hand. "And for my next trick." He snapped his fingers and the chains dropped off of him. "Ta-da." He stepped off of the devil's trap. Kevin was afraid to move, but eventually found the knife with nervous hands.

"Now, now, sweetheart," Crowley said. He flicked his hand to the side and Kevin felt the knife thrown out of the grasp and it clattered on the floor. Useless. "And the final lesson I'll impart to you."

He started walking to Kevin, slowly. The young man edged backwards until he hit the wall. Crowley leaned in, put a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "This is how you gloat. You wait until you're sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you're free. Otherwise, you look foolish." Crowley's fingers softly moved from Kevin's shoulder, up his neck, until he gently held the prophet's chin with his fingertips to force him to look up at him. Eye to eye. "About the angel? Remember this." He leaned closely to Kevin, bending himself to his ear. His stubble brushed upon the boy's cheek and his smoky voice caused shivers down his spine. "Prisoners lie." And then, Crowley parted and walked out of the room.

Kevin's heart was pounding so fast.  _ Shit. I messed up. _


	10. Mertensian Mimicry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, last chapter was kinda intense. We had cute and funny moments in there, too. Soooo, this chapter is even more intense as we reach the climax for this story arc. Next chapter should be a little more lighthearted.
> 
> This chapter is also longer than most others. I did have two weeks to write it, after all. Last week, I treated you to two side stories instead of writing the main Awestruck fic. I hope you enjoyed the side stories. The next story for the Awestruck Tales that I'm working on is really fun! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

***

_Caribou, Wyoming_

Castiel was staring up at the wall and adding the evidence that he and Lively had found on their own. Sam added the pictures of the Glee Clubber angels. They were starting to see a clearer picture. He had called Lively over.

"I swear Cas, if she so much as looks at us the wrong way, we're ganking her," Dean brandished the angel blade.

"That will be unnecessary. She owes me--"

"For three slices of pizza, yeah, yeah, yeah. You told me already."

Sam spoke up, "Actually, from the lore, fairies actually are all about keeping promises and returning favors. If they make a deal, then they keep up their end of it. Apparently, honor is something they care about."

"So, like demons with class and principles," Dean said. "Still monsters, Sammy."

Sam hung up some papers on the wall, more photographs of the people he had further identified. The two females in the bar, they had been identified as being from Wyoming--the same town; the same glee club in Melody, Wyoming. It was actually not far. Perhaps an hour and a half away.

Castiel tilted his head. "New recruits. This was an ambush. It explains also why the body count was so disproportionate. Bartholomew's numbers were annihilated while the other faction suffered fewer casualties."

"Any idea who it was?"

"I've been cut off from Heaven for a long time. I… made mistakes. I made enemies. I can come up with a list, but it might not be accurate or helpful. As it would have been from when I was in better standing with Heaven."

"Gotcha."

Sam wanted to somehow get Cas back out of the room again so he could talk with Ezekiel and try to get him to talk about the angels. Once Lively was over, they could continue their investigation.

It wasn't long before they heard the Volvo in the parking lot. The old car sputtered and cried and groaned.

"Sounds like it needs a new muffler," Dean remarked.

\---

After some very tense introductions, they started to explain their plan. Lively stood near Cas at the table. She eyed the angel blade on the nightstand. Obviously Sam or Dean--probably Dean--had left it out as a quiet threat for her to not try anything. She sighed and rolled her eyes. It was stupid. She wondered what she had to do to earn their trust. Then again--they were hunters.

They were going to go to Melody, Wyoming to continue with their investigation. "So, what we're going to do," Sam said as he rolled out a map of the state on the table. "Is split into two teams. Two of us are heading into the morgue to look at the bodies. The other two are going to be going to Melody to interview families."

Sam raised his eyes and looked at Dean. They had decided on the plan, but had no clue about how to even begin figuring out the teams. Sam and Dean didn't want to be apart and Castiel didn't care where he went. At the same time, Sam wanted Winchester influence in both areas, they were the more experienced hunters and this case wasn't a routine salt-and-burn.

Lively separated from the group and headed to the wall. She looked up at it, seeing the information plastered there. She had no idea how they got access to all of that information. She had scoured Google in order to figure it out, but had gotten nowhere. They were hunters, sure, but the hunters that she knew tended to read up on the local news and cross-reference it to lore books. Not hack government and law enforcement without getting caught. Mildly, she pondered just who the Winchesters were.

"Hey Hooves, you planning on joining us anytime soon?" Dean asked.

She moved towards the group at the table and Dean couldn't help but stare at her dainty hooves moving underneath her skirt. "It's Lively," she said, crossing her arms.

"Knock it off, you two," Sam said as he pointed at the map. "So, as I was saying, we want a team at the morgue and one investigating in Melody. You and Cas go together, Dean."

"But that leaves you with…" Dean looked pointedly at Lively. "... Narnia here." He was going to go with something more offensive, but decided not to. Castiel seemed to like her, at least. He was guarded and couldn't bring himself not to be. Sam was his little brother, after all. It was his job to protect him. Even if they were going through things right now. "Why can't you take Cas? Why can't it just be you and me?"

"Excuse us," Sam said as he pulled his brother away. They went outside. And though they were secluded, they spoke in hushed tones and whispers.

Lively turned to Castiel. "And you want us to work _your_ case with these guys?"

He looked confused as if the option of not including them was so absolutely ludicrous that there was no point to even consider it.

She shrugged and tucked a lock of hair behind her ears as she studied the map and the notes that Sam had taken and Dean had added to. These two had really made this their life. Castiel hadn't been exaggerating at all.

\---

"The hell, Sam? No chick-flick moments. Can't we just move on? Just let me team up with Lively and you can take Cas."

"No."

"Why not!"

"Because Ezekiel doesn't want to go with Castiel. Because there's no way that you are going to be even decently cooperative with Lively right now." Sam looked to Dean. "And Cas is better with you than I am. Since he's come back, you've been… you."

Dean grumbled. He could be himself with Sam, too.

"No."

And then, Sam's posture shifted. His expression changed slightly. His eyes flashed blue for a moment as he flipped a mental switch. Now, he was Ezekiel. "Dean, I won't let harm come to your brother. Should the Glaistig try anything, I will smite her on the spot. Should Sam get hurt, I will heal him."

"Well, that's just great!" Dean said. "How do I know that you aren't going to just leave him high and dry the way you did to us in the diner?"

"Castiel was present. I could not risk--"

Dean interrupted, agitated. "Risk what, Zeke? I know. Sam knows. And he hasn't thrown you out, yet. Why not let Cas in on the secret?"

"The angels--"

"This again? He's warded as well as me and Sam. No angel can find him."

Ezekiel looked down at Dean, stone-faced. "I'll reconsider if you go with him on this case and allow Sam and I to go with Lively." Really, Ezekiel was doing this because it was what Sam wanted.

Dean huffed and looked down, "Fine, but it better not be false promises."

"I will not waste this opportunity to win your trust, Dean." And Ezekiel disappeared.

Sam came back and started to say, "I…" He paused. "Ezekiel showed up?"

"Yeah."

Things were easier now that Sam knew. But also harder, because he expected Dean to let him in on everything that was exchanged. And the fact of the matter was that, though the big secret was out, Dean and Zeke shared secrets between them. And Dean didn't know how much he was supposed to reveal. "So?" Sam prompted.

"He convinced me. I'll go with Cas. You can go with Lively. You happy now?"

Sam wanted to ask how Zeke had managed to convince his brother to do something he was so adamant against. He could tell that Dean and Zeke weren't friends. Most of the time when Sam came to, Dean was upset--except for that one time. He was about to ask, but decided to shelve the issue for now, until they were back at the Bunker or at least someplace with a little more privacy.

"Lively and I will go and interview the families while you and Cas head down to the morgue--" And Sam was cut off.

Ezekiel came back, apparently a part of the conversation now. "I think I may be able to identify some of the angel bodies, depending on who they are."

"Really?"

"Each angel's Grace has its own signature. And in the vessels left behind, there might be enough traces to identify the angels. Also, tell Sam I apologize for not letting him finish his sentence."

"Sure thing," Dean said numbly.

"--to look for clues on the two women's…" Sam paused. "He interrupted me, didn't he?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, he told me to tell you he's sorry."

"What did he say this time?" Sam said, the frustration making his words a little sharper.

"Zeke might be able to identify the angels that wore the meat suits."

Sam considered it because it was too convenient not to take advantage of except that it left Dean and Cas to interview the families. And Sam wasn't exactly sure how well the two of them could manage it. "So, I'm sending _you_ and Cas, you know, 'My-people-skills-are-rusty' Cas, to interview people. I'd feel better knowing it was you-you and not dog-brain-you."

"Well, you got any better options? 'Cause I'm all ears," Dean stared at his brother, challenging him to come up with something. Nothing came up.

***

_Wichita, Kansas_

Crowley snapped his fingers and appeared in front of Castle Storage. He wore his usual clothes, black suit and a black coat over top of that, and had a black briefcase in his hand. He moved with purpose, keeping his posture regal and powerful because he felt like he controlled this situation, like nothing could touch him despite the fact that he was very much mostly human at this point in time.

This visit had many purposes. The most obvious purpose was to check on the prisoners he had left here. Another reason was to check on the loyalties of the demon still guarding the area--though he knew that Del would have gotten restless and might have switched sides. But more than anything, it was a move against Abaddon. He sauntered into the office like he owned the place. And, honestly, he did.

It wasn't the best-kept Castle Storage, but then again, it was being run by a Del, young demon, and an unwitting human accomplice. Said human accomplice--Barry--was playing with his handheld gaming system at the desk. He had been hired specifically for his apathy.

Barry glanced up at Crowley and went back to his game.

Crowley cleared his throat.

"Uh, what?"

"I'd like to have a chat with Del."

Barry scoffed. "Well, tough luck. His shift doesn't start in another three hours."

"Well, isn't that a shame." Crowley put the briefcase on the desk. He opened it and pulled out an ornate bowl and some candles.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Barry eyed the objects curiously.

"I'd tell you, but there is no point," the King of Hell said with a smile.

"And why not?"

Crowley drew an angel blade from the inside of his jacket. "Because, I need a blood sacrifice," With a snap of his fingers, Crowley was next to Barry, on the other side of the desk, holding him still with a lot of effort. The young man was surprised, confused, and afraid as he struggled and writhed. Crowley had to fight to overpower him, but soon, bent the young man's neck down over the bowl and brought the dagger across his throat. Blood spilled out of his neck and into the bowl.

Crowley was careful to not get a drop of blood on him and when he was done, he removed a handkerchief and wiped the blade clean. It had been awhile since his last kill. "Like riding a bicycle."

***

_Outside of Melody, Wyoming_

The Impala moved smoothly over the road which was a thin ribbon of asphalt. The black car was going to make it mid-afternoon. This day had been a full one for the Winchesters et al. Dean, in the driver's seat of his Baby, was confident that he and Cas could do their part in Melody. He was worried about Sam with Lively.

"She's trustworthy," Castiel said. "She has helped me many times on my last case."

"She's following you around because she owes you three slices of pizza. How trustworthy can she be, Cas? And last I checked, you aren't exactly the best judge of character."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't want to think about his failed alliance with Metatron. He had been manipulated. First by Naomi, then by Metatron. It felt like, once he fought so hard for free will, he was wasting it.

Cas watched Dean eat. The pie had 420 calories. 230 of which was from fat. He kept his mouth shut, having learned from his experience that people don't want to hear the nutritional value of the food they were eating. Especially if they were purchasing their food from a gas station convenience store. Crumbs stuck to Dean's day-old stubble. When he finished, he rubbed his hand over his mouth.

Green eyes glanced Cas's way. "Hey, Cas. You okay?" the hunter asked.

The concern emanating from Dean was sincere enough. And Cas found it interesting that, even when he was focusing on reading his thoughts, the most he could get was passing glances at words. Most of it was the bright light of emotions, searing and intense.

"Your mind is like an animal's, Dean."

"My _mind?_ You are reading my mind?"

"That would be the obvious conclusion," Castiel said.

He looked surprised. "So, you can just go and read anybody's mind?"

"It requires much effort," he admitted. "Your mind is easier to access because I know you quite well."

"So, more of that profound bond crap?" Dean said.

Castiel looked out of the window. "I don't know."

" _You don't know?_ Awesome."

The former-angel smiled, still facing away from the hunter, feeling relief and joy that Dean, despite what was going on with him, was still very much Dean. And he still hadn't said much about why he was acting the way he was. Perhaps he didn't want to explain it. Perhaps there was nothing to explain. "At least tell me why Sam doesn't know that it was you who said I couldn't stay in the bunker," Cas said.

Dean set his jaw as he stared down the stretch of road they had yet to cover. He wanted the trip to be over, Castiel could see that without peering into his head. Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, measuring his words. The Impala was so much more quiet inside than Cas had ever heard it, the classic rock barely audible to the former-angel's ears. "Zeke, Ezekiel I mean, wanted you out."

"Is he still in the Bunker?" Castiel asked. He focused on reading Dean's mind, clambering over the mess the animal instincts in his head had left in his thoughts. And he realized a single truth in that brief moment, a flash of clarity as he sorted through Dean's thoughts. Sam, but not Sam. And Castiel understood. "He's in Sam?" The former-angel turned towards Dean.

"Look, Sam was really messed up after the Trials. Full on Kowalski 'I'm Dying' cough. I prayed and brought Zeke and a whole bunch of other angels over. He fought them with me. Then, Zeke was powered down and he could only cure Sam if he possessed him. Cas, it was the only way to--"

Castiel interrupted. "If it is Ezekiel, then he's good for his word." However, he was feeling doubtful. Ezekiel didn't have the creativity to come up with a solution like this. If he was unable to heal someone, he wouldn't have had the idea to possess them and heal them from the inside out. But they had a mission to do now. He honed his focus on the interviews.

***

_Caribou, Wyoming_

The Volvo was tiny. Sam sat with his knees in the dashboard. He had tried to adjust the seat, but found that there was no way to--the seat was stuck where it was and this was as good as it got. Somehow, the back seat wasn't much better.

He squirmed in his seat, trying to find a comfortable place to sit while Lively drove. Their car ride was awkwardly silent for the first half until the fae spoke up.

"So, isn't it smarter to send Dean and Cas to the morgue? Less interaction with people. I've been with Cas long enough to know that he's... well, he's Cas. And obviously, your brother is going through some… issues."

Sam glanced at her. He didn't want to reveal too much to someone--or rather, _something--_ he didn't know. Carefully, he said, "Dean wanted to go out to Melody to show me he can handle it."

She shrugged, but it was obvious that she wasn't satisfied with Sam's answer. She didn't press the issue, knowing that there was no point.

"So, how did you meet Cas?"

"We were just two drifters bumping into each other at some cheap motel. He got me a pizza. I guess I got interested." She looked to Sam. "So, dead bodies. What are we going to do with them?"

"Geez, can you be a little more sensitive? They were people."

"Says the man who desecrates graves for a living," she countered. "Well, I want to know what to expect is all, hon. I won't judge you. Honestly, you can't be much worse than Sassa-Cas."

Sam sighed. "I'm not sure what's going to happen, but I may be able to identify the angels who used to be in the vessels."

"Ah, that is convenient, hon. And explains why we're going to the morgue."

"Also," Sam said. _"Sassa… Cas?"_ He disjoined the nickname and made it sound even more awkward.

"Sassa-Cas," Lively corrected. "Like sassafras."

"Sassafras," Sam repeated, flatly. "Like the root?"

"Well, yeah, but also 'cause of Cas's sass," she explained.

"Cas's… ass?"

"No! Cas's sass. Possessive. Like the sass of Cas. See, Cas is sassy. Sassy Cas like sassafras is Sassa-Cas." She smiled and somehow what she had just said did not twist her tongue at all.

Sam cringed. "That was just horrible. Just that whole thing you just said there." He gestured vaguely in the air surrounding Lively.

She grinned.

***

Crowley finished the ritual, his deep, accented voice methodically reciting the words to the summoning spell. The bowl of blood caught on fire and the flames on the candles grew from tender glowing points to long, fast-burning tongues. Wax was pooling underneath them as they shrank down. The lights were flickering overhead.

Everything went dark and then the lights came back on in the building. "Well, will you look at that." Del said from behind Crowley. "It's Crowley, back from who knows, who cares."

The King of Hell turned around to face Del. The demon was in a young man, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. He had on a T-shirt with some anime characters printed on the front. His jeans were tight on him.

"I was preoccupied," Crowley said off-handedly. He had his usual smug expression. He looked regal and every bit like the demon who took the mantle as King of Hell.

"So, yeah. Leave me out here with Barry the mouth-breather and--" Del finally noticed the body on the ground. He walked over and poked the corpse with his foot. "Wait a sec. Is this Barry? You killed Barry? _I_ wanted to kill Barry! You said I could kill Barry. That damn shitbag wiped his boogers on the chair in the back. He thought I wouldn't notice, but I noticed. I friggin' noticed. And he..." Del continued.

Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed. He had forgotten how moronic young demons could be. He waited until Del stopped talking. Which he hoped was different enough to tip Del off that something had changed. "Now, you mentioned killing someone, Del. How are my prisoners doing?"

The young demon looked down. "Okay, I killed the one girl. I just couldn't take it anymore! Am I not a young, vital demon with basic demon needs and rights? You told me to take care of them. Me! I'm supposed to be running around, torturing souls, and killing people, and being all… like badass and shit."

Crowley removed an angel blade from his coat pocket. The young demon glanced down at it, very much aware of what it was and what it could do. To Crowley, what was important was not that he was the strongest demon--because he absolutely wasn't. He just had to know the most. With knowledge comes power, after all. There was a specific art to intimidation that had nothing to do with one's actual strength.

"So, have you been downstairs lately?" Crowley asked. "I detect that sweet aroma of fire and brimstone about you. Doesn't suit you, I'm afraid." He twirled the blade in his hand idly, looking every bit like whether Del lived or died was a decision he could make lightly. "What have my black-eyed boys been up to about while daddy was away?"

"Some demons have started following Abaddon," Del stated, looking away.

"Then I will kill them," Crowley said. "Though I'm sure you've figured that out, eh mate?"

Del gulped. "They said the Winchesters kidnapped you."

"They said, they said. You've known me for, how long has it been now, Del? Twenty years in Hell?" The young demon's soul had been an easy one to burn. Then, he was there, full on demon, eager for the opportunity to finally be unleashed onto the world. And Crowley purposefully put him in this position--lesser than he was when he was a human. Del remembered enough that it was torture to continue where he was. Of course he'd slip up. Crowley had counted on it. He was the demon that Crowley had made after all.

"Shouldn't I be able to choose sides?" Del asked meekly.

The King of Hell raised his eyebrows and then smiled. "I suppose a _'young, vital demon'_ as yourself should have some autonomy. So, what's your pick, princess?" He applied some duress as he played with the knife in his hands.

Del realized his position and averted his eyes. "You."

"Now kneel."

Obediently, Del did so.

But Crowley knew: Everyone lies when under duress.

He brought the Angel Blade up, causing the demon to flinch and shut his eyes. And in that moment, Crowley snapped his fingers.

Del looked up, expecting Crowley to be gone. He wasn't. The King of Hell smiled sheepishly instead, which tipped Del off that something was different about Crowley.

"You aren't the same… You're… weaker." Del pushed Crowley onto the floor, sending him on his back and sending the Angel Blade flying. He grinned, maniacally. "I can kill you."

However, the King of Hell merely stood himself up and brushed the dirt from off of his black coat. He preened himself idly, seemingly ignoring Del. He glanced at the Angel Blade.

"Why aren't you afraid?"

Crowley whistled a loud and three-toned whistle.

"I've had enough of you! You think this is a game? That you can stand there like you still own me when you don't have an ounce of power to your name? I'm the lowest of the low and I'm _stronger than you._ "

Del stepped forward and punched Crowley, who bled, like a human. He even smelled human as he wiped the blood from one of his split lip with the back of his hand. He licked it experimentally. "Still mostly human," Crowley said. There was an art to using weakness in a strategic way and there was power in being underestimated.

"Then why aren't you afraid!"

"Because I'm Crowley, the bloody King of Hell. And do you know what I was before that?" Everything he had done thus far--it had all been hard work to get him here, and he wasn't going to let Del forget it. "I was the King of the Crossroads and the Right Hand of the First Demon. And this hellhound. Is. _Mine!_ " He gestured towards the wall. And just then, the side of the building burst open, sending splinters flying. Deep, growling barks filled the air when the beast entered. As the dust settled, all that could be heard was the panting of the hellhound that Crowley had summoned.

"Where is it?" Del asked, still scanning the room. "I can hear it." His breathing hitched as he felt the moist heat on an animal's exhale on the back of his neck. His eyes rounded in fear, especially when he realized he could not smoke out. Crowley had put something on him. "How big is this thing?"

Crowley smiled. "Stay." He walked past Del, who was still frozen in place. Despite the hole in the wall, he still walked to the threshold of the door, put his hand on the knob and opened it. Before he left, he paused with a tender smile on his face. "Not you, Growley. C'mere, boy." The hellhound scrambled after his master, eagerly. Crowley patted the tall creature next to him, the beast's head coming up to nearly his shoulder. "Good dog."

***

Dean parked the Impala along the street of a suburban neighborhood. He glanced to Cas in the passenger's seat. He was wearing a suit and tie, slightly wrinkled because he wore it yesterday. Dean smoothed out the wrinkles as best as he could. His hands adjusted the collar and he pulled on the suit's sleeves. When his hands were close to Cas's, his mind kept drifting to that moment in Caribou yesterday, when Castiel calmed him with a touch. When that was all he wanted. He tried to drown out the image.

"Dean."

"I swear to God, Cas, if you are in my head..." He left the threat unsaid.

"Sorry," the former-angel mumbled. And then, as an afterthought. "It's not good to take the Lord's name in vain."

"Hey Cas."

Cas looked up, expecting a good answer.

"Bite me," Dean said.

"That does not sound comfortable for you."

Dean patted Cas on the shoulder. "Well, let's get the show on the road."

\---

After flashing their badges and announcing themselves as Agents Moseley and Moscone, they got access to the Van der Specht home. Dean sat on the couch next to Castiel, who, as always was stiff and awkward. "He's new," Dean had informed the married couple before either of them even thought to ask. Castiel canted his head slightly. He was trying to skim their heads for information, but it was hard when it was someone he didn't know.

Mr. Van der Specht picked up a tissue and handed it to his wife, who took it as she continued explaining what was happening. "The police said that there was nothing we can do. Our daughter was perfectly capable of making her decisions. And that she…" The woman sobbed into a tissue. The husband patted his wife on the back, but it seemed like he was more shocked and hurt than she was. He hadn't said a word, as if saying a single word would tear down the facade of strength he had been building.

"So, any strange behavior before your daughter ran off?" Dean asked.

Mrs. Van der Specht sniffled before she composed herself enough to answer. "She was herself. A good church-going girl. She just, up and out of the blue left us on that Glee Club trip of hers. Didn't even tell us until the day before. They had picked specific girls for the show."

"How long was she in this club?" Dean asked.

"It wasn't anything new. _All_ of the Van Der Specht girls have joined the Glee Club. Myself included. Singing is in my blood, in… Lori's blood. I don't feel much like singing presently." She slumped.

"I understand," the hunter said, comfortingly.

"Often times, they take our brightest before their time." Castiel said, sounding like a gruff greeting card. His first words in this interview and they crushed the woman because Mrs. Van der Specht started sobbing noisily. Apparently, she wasn't ready to acknowledge that her daughter was actually, irrevocably dead. When Cas peered into her mind, all he could see was Mrs. Van der Specht with her ear to the phone. _I'm sorry ma'am, your daughter's dead._

Dean elbowed Castiel and snapped him out of his trance. The former angel met his eyes and the hunter communicated _something_ through them. And because Cas was not Sam, a lot of it got lost in translation. Mr. Van der Specht comforted his wife again.

She sniffled. "Sorry, agents," she said, eyes rimmed with red.

Her husband took over. "Anything else?"

Dean was about to say something, but Cas wanted to try another strategy. "Tell me about her." The former-angel said. "What was the last thing you remembered her singing in the Glee Club?"

Mr. Van der Specht looked suspicious as to what Castiel was asking. "How does this help the case?"

Dean looked to Cas, eyebrows raised, but the hunter came up with an explanation quickly enough. "Profiling. If we know the victim, it may be easier to find a perp."

Cas sighed in relief. Dean could always make a good lie and backed him up well.

Suspicions quelled, Mr. Van der Specht started to relay the last Glee Club Rehearsal. Cas focused on Mr. Van der Specht's mind. He stared into the middle distance and was trying to find a way into his head.

And Castiel found his in when he grasped onto a strand of thought about the sheer paternal love he held for his daughter. He held onto it and let it drag him into the memory. Now, he was standing behind a family who was watching their loved ones singing. The women's voices were absolutely beautiful as they sang "How Great Thou Art" with the awe necessary to make that song soar. Cas searched the room, seeing the faces of the men and women who were gathered to listen to this practice group. He committed them to memory.

"Will that be enough agent?" Mr. Van der Specht asked.

Dean looked to Cas, not knowing what he was doing except that it made it so that Dean could no longer work his charm and get more information. He saw the queasy look on Castiel's face.

"More than enough, Mr. Van der Specht," Dean said. "So, where did--"

"Agent Moscone looks ill," the wife said.

Dean immediately put his hand on Cas's leg possessively. "He's _fine_."

They continued with the interview, but never got their control back or got further answers. Castiel remained quiet and queasy on the couch, fighting to keep his eyes open.

***

Sam and Lively were at the morgue. Not all of the bodies had been autopsied yet. And the ones which had, they had the reports to. Lively took the files and was starting to read through them. She flipped through the autopsy reports, giving Sam the gist of what the coroner had reported. "Small triangular puncture wounds or deep lacerations. The insides were completely vaporized, but no drugs in the systems. This has got the people here freaked out. You'd think angels would try not to leave such a mess for the humans to clean up."

Sam was at the body of one of the bikers. The man had been cut open and sewn back together. His body tested and measured and the results of it recorded in the files Lively had in her hand.

"So how do you plan to identify the bodies?" Lively asked.

"I'm not exactly sure," Sam said as he experimentally poked the overweight man. He frowned.

Lively adjusted the glasses on her face as she found the man's report. "So, did you identify the body?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know how this is supposed to work."

Lively sighed. "Then why did you s--"

"This body has been too damaged post-mortem," Sam said suddenly.

He moved to another body, this one not yet cut into. He looked at it and carefully touched his finger into one of the wounds which caused Lively to cringe. "What are you doing?" the fae asked Sam.

"Feeling for what the Grace has done to the body. When an angel is killed with an angel blade, the Grace vaporizes the insides. Every angel has a different Grace and--"

"They should leave some type of signature. And a body which has been autopsied would have disturbed that signature--got it. You know, that's creative." She looked up at him, "So, do you know every angel's name?"

Sam's face held a stern expression unlike any he would have done. "There are some I do not know. But many I do."

"You're not Sam, are you?"

Ezekiel raised his eyes. Fear was in them. "How do you know? Can the fae see who I am?"

"Naw, hon. I'm just observant."

He relaxed. "I know the fae do not lie."

"You were stationed a long time ago then? It's been eons since us fairies were a bit more open about what we are."

"This was Zuriel. One of Bartholomew's, certainly."

Lively raised her eyebrows. "So, you got it. We need to identify the women." She glanced over her shoulder towards the hallway where the coroner might come through. "I'm pretty sure poking your hands in the puncture wounds might raise some questions, so we'll go and do the girls next."

\---

Having found Lori Van der Specht, Ezekiel investigated her. He was feeling for which angel had been in her before her untimely demise. Before she had been sent to kill other angels in a needless battle.

"So, how did you come up with this?" Lively asked, tilting her head as she watched Ezekiel investigatively stuck Sam's index finger carefully into the puncture wound between her breasts. He studied Lori's body carefully.

He didn't answer her question and his face fell. "Turiel." He looked at Lively. "This was Turiel."

"And does this help us figure out the other faction?"

"The side which Turiel would pick would favor anarchy," Ezekiel said with a frown. "I… I haven't known many of the other angels who fought in the garrisons. We may need to ask a soldier."

"So, Cas."

***

Castiel and Dean were in the Impala, on their way back home after they finished their interviews. Cas was weak, tired, and his eyes were focused wearily on the horizon line as he woke up from his short nap. "Rise and shine, Cas," Dean said.

Castiel didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "What happened?"

"The interview went nowhere. You were really out of it by the end." Dean kept his eyes on the road. He closed his fingers around the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as he tried to keep a handle on his own emotions. He had seen Cas take initiative, pull the situation out of his control, and Dean had guarded Cas when he had suddenly become ill. He kept glancing at his friend and hated the anxiety of not knowing what was going on, only sensing the low blood pressure and the stink of sick about him. Dean snorted when the scent of blood hit his nose. "Wait. Are you bleeding Cas?"

He glanced over as Cas caught some drops of blood coming from his nose. "It seems I overexerted myself. I was… I thought to take a more direct approach and accessed the memories of the father." He pinched his nose.

"Glove compartment. Napkins."

Castiel fumbled with it until Dean reached over and pulled out some scratchy napkins collected from various fast-food joints. He handed them to Castiel, who took it and pressed it to his face.

"We could have gotten it without you doing that," Dean said.

"I just wanted to show you that I can--"

Dean growled and wrinkled his nose. But then he frustratedly looked away. He hated feeling like an animal. He hated it. "Don't pull stupid psychic crap like that if it's gonna wring you out. Just." He got flustered and took a deep breath. "Look. I'm happy you're back." He paused. "Just don't bleed all over my Baby."

Castiel settled into the seat and thought about the faces he had seen when he was inside of Mr. Van der Specht's head.

***

Ezekiel and Lively had made it back to the motel room. He was on the laptop while Lively was sitting in the chair. She looked to Ezekiel, obviously bored. She had tried speaking with him, but the angel remained tacit, focusing mostly on the paragraphs he was typing up for Sam.

"You know, I met an angel once. She told me that when she's in her vessel, the person is aware. Why isn't Sam aware of what you are doing? Are you trying to hide something?"

"Have you seen an angel?"

Lively rolled her eyes. "Well, duh, I just told you."

"No, I mean an actual angel? Not just an angel in a human vessel."

She mulled over it. And realized that she hadn't seen an angel's true form.

"We can melt the eyes of a person just because they see us. We can deafen them should they hear our voices. We are unfathomable, indescribable. If the vessel is not meant to be ours, we burn through them like a flame too hot for its candle. And it's just because they can't exist, with our Grace flowing through their bodies, without being destroyed. Sam _can't_ be awake when I am."

What he had just described was frightening. But she understood now.

He finished typing his final paragraph and looked up to Lively. "You can help him once he comes back. This is probably the longest he has gone without…"

She brought a knee up, hugging it to her chest. "Why do you care so much about him?"

Instead of answering, Ezekiel retreated back into Sam. The younger Winchester looked disoriented and searched around. "We were…"

"We finished the thing in the morgue. Neat trick there, neglecting to tell me that you had an angel living inside of you."

"Ah, yeah, you met Zeke. How long was I out?"

Lively flickered her attention up to Sam. "A couple of hours. And he identified the angel in that girl. Angel was… Turiel?"

Sam glanced over the paragraphs that Ezekiel left behind for him. "Yeah, Turiel." He confirmed. He started to research about this angel.

\---

Dean and Castiel made it back. Cas was sitting on Dean's bed, leaning against the headboard. He was working a pen over some paper, sketching out the faces of the people he saw in Van der Spect's head. The boys and Lively were consolidating the information that they had gathered.

"So, the girls in the Glee Club didn't suddenly join. They were in there for awhile," Dean said to Sam.

Castiel glanced up. "It's highly unlikely that the females were in their true vessels, but were in vessels that could, in the short-term, contain their Grace."

"Lori's angel was named Turiel. Sam and I did research while you guys were out. Apparently, Turiel is not a good angel. We might be able to ask Kevin to look up some records of him. Also, Cas," Lively said.

The former angel continued sketching. He made no indication of hearing the fae. But she knew that he could hear her. She had become used to his habits by now. He finished another drawing and pulled it from the notepad and tossed it aside in the pile next to him. He worked rather quickly.

"Ezekiel said that Turiel would have favored an anarchist. Do you know any soldiers who fit that description?"

Castiel flinched at the name Turiel, and he grunted before he replied. "There were many fed up with God's absence. Who lost faith. They kept it to themselves. None were outspoken. But it makes sense that… Turiel would choose one of them."

Dean had noticed Castiel's unease about the named angel. "So, what do you know about Turiel?"

"He has not been an Angel of the Lord for centuries. He has rebelled against Heaven."

Sam paused from attaching red strings from different parts of their investigation. He piped up. "Well, from the lore, Turiel is bad news. He was a Grigori--angels who went down and procreated with humans, creating Nephilim."

"So, what? He's bad news because he got bored and boned a couple of chicks?" Dean said with a laugh.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "If that was all, then he wouldn't have been confined in Heaven's prison along with Heaven's worst. The Grigori fed on human souls. He was held and tortured to find the location of the other Grigori, who were destroyed."

"Heaven has a prison?" Dean said. "So, when Metatron kicked all the angels out of heaven… It was also _The Great Escape_ for Heaven's Most Wanted?"

Sam crossed his arms. "Well, Ezekiel sort of left out that detail."

"Awesome," Dean said. "So, not only do we have to worry about the angels fighting each other, we also have to worry about escaped angelic convicts!"

"So it seems," Castiel said sternly. "It explains why this new faction was so… ruthless. They have the worst of heaven's angels in their ranks. The angels who have done the unredeemable."

Sam felt a strange guilt twisting in his gut. An emotion that was both his and not his. _Unredeemable_. The word hung in the air like an old shame that could not be erased.

Lively clapped her hands together. "Well, I say that we need to go out tonight; hit the bar. Ease up a bit. And get back to it tomorrow."

"I don't see how--"

"It's _one_ night. We need one night if we are going to do this," she cast her gaze to the Winchester boys.

Sam only looked down. "We should continue."

Dean saw how haggard Castiel was and how rundown Sam looked. "No, Hooves here is right. We need to take care of ourselves." He looked pointedly to Castiel. "One night. Besides, I could _really_ use a drink between Heaven's escaped convicts, working with a _glaistig_ …" Lively put a hand on her chest and feigned offense as he said that. Dean continued, "Zeke joyriding Sam, and Cas friggin' free-balling in _my_ jeans."

Sam sighed. "Fine."

Castiel tilted his head. "What is free-balling?"

"It means I wish you were actually junkless, Cas," Dean said.

Lively giggled.

***

Crowley moved down the corridor Q, where his prisoners were being held. There was only one there that he was invested in: Linda Tran. He strode down, hands in his pocket, to the door. He opened it and the light-starved face of an Asian-American woman glanced at him. Her body was thin. Her features gaunt. She was covered in bruises from being beat up and there was blood on her face. When her eyes adjusted and she recognized Crowley, she shrank back and pulled out a makeshift weapon created from a two-by-four sharpened from rubbing against the concrete floor.

Crowley moved closer to her. He noticed the Devil's Trap that she had carefully painted on the ground. He walked confidently into the trap.

Linda raised the stake that she had made, a small symbol carved into it, designed to be used as a Devil's Trap itself. She was inside of it, ready for Crowley to make his move. There was a wildness to her that Crowley couldn't help but admire. She was cautious, practiced, and despite her slim frame, strong. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. She was hungry for vengeance.

"Been a long time, hasn't it, Miss Tran?" He patted the Hellhound next to him, though it looked like he was patting the empty air. The solid slap of his hand to the beast's hide told Linda that there was something large and dangerous next to Crowley. "Now, I wouldn't do that. Growley here is quite loyal to me. You think you can kill me and that would be it, But kill me; he'll kill you, but then, dear, what would be the point? He'd hunt down and kill your son and anybody associated with your bloody family, as well. And ask the Winchester boys how hard it is to kill a hellhound. And that one was a mere pup. Growley here? He's the best fighter, oldest hellhound in Hell, and all."

Linda stood down, disgusted with the man in front of her.

He then lifted his eyebrows. "As it stands, you are the only creature alive, other than this fine man who I have possessed and I'm not letting him go alive. But you got a sneak peek into the way I think. At first it was too much. At first you thought it was all a nightmare. That it couldn't possibly be true. I've lived a long while and I'm surprised that you haven't gone off your rocker in the small amount of time I was in your skin."

Linda whimpered, longing for the stake that Crowley had tossed across the dark room. The fear in the room was palpable. And it was all from her. Tentatively, she asked, "What are you?" All she knew was that he was something ancient, old, and dangerous. More dangerous than she could even fathom. And the sense of it echoed through her head.

He raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so you do remember a fair bit of what was swimming in that head of yours when I was wearing you. Well, to answer your question: Mostly human right now, I'm afraid. But still very much a demon. Feels like I'm wearing a pair of trousers that are a bit too tight." His voice was dark and smokey. "Let's make a deal."

Linda shifted her gaze downward. "I don't make deals with demons. I'd rather _keep_ my soul."

Crowley smiled. "I'd hate to see that bright soul of yours broken and burnt up anyways. Such a waste. Not a Crossroads Deal, then. Just a deal between friends. What do you say?"

"I'm not your friend." She was about to make a run for it, but heard the rough growl from Crowley's hellhound.

"Now, now, don't be so harsh." Crowley made a motion like he was holding a contract and suddenly he was. The scroll rolled out of his hand and went to her feet. He snapped his fingers and the room brightened up enough for her to read it. The demon grinned. "Win-win for the both of us. I let you out and you be who you are. I will make sure nothing will kill Kevin. That's all that I ask of you."

She looked mistrustful as she perused the contract.

"You know who I am; therefore, you know that I am always good on holding my end of the bargain."

"Why?" She asked.

"The same reason I do anything: I'm invested, dear."

Then, she nodded. Crowley leaned forward and kissed her with a gentle peck. When Linda opened her eyes, he was gone and so was the heavy, dangerous presence of his hellhound. She crossed her arms and hugged herself to try to get her body warm again. The shivering reminded her that she was just human and there was comfort in that fact. She looked to the open door. True to his word, she could take her first step out.

The fresh air tasted delicious.


	11. Social Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is a few days late due to my hand injury. I got the hang of typing (basically touch-type on my left hand and find-and-peck with my right). I probably should not type at all until I heal, but I just have to tell their story!
> 
> This chapter is finally a breather chapter with some nice fluffs. Last chapter was pretty awesome with tons of cool things happening! Crowley and Growley and Linda and the boys going on with the case. So, because this chapter's late, I am going to finish up my short story and post that next Monday and try to get back on schedule for you guys! You will love the next installment of the Awestruck Tales. It's my favorite one yet.

***

_Lebanon, Kansas_

Kevin had been attached to the laptop and planted in the library once his brain stopped panicking and he emerged from the dungeon where they had once imprisoned Crowley.

Damage control. That was the best way to describe it. Kevin was looking for an answer as to where Crowley could have gone. He rubbed at the scab on his arm where he had drawn his blood from. It was damning because it was evidence of his stupidity. Of course Crowley had a plan the whole time.

The phone was ringing. Kevin let it ring twice and then it stopped. It rang again, he picked it up immediately.

"Sam. Er, how's Dean?"

"Better," Sam said. "So, about the angel case we're on. We hit a breakthrough and we'll be headed over to the bunker in a day or so to do some heavy research on it and find some more leads."

Kevin felt numb as he listened. It was too soon. He didn't want to admit what he did with Crowley. That the King of Hell had gotten away. "Uh, what kind of a breakthrough?"

"Ezekiel identified one of the angels as Turiel."

The prophet felt a jolt of panic hit his heart when Sam said that angel's name. It was one that he had come across in his research. Turiel was one of the angels who had been in the angel jail. "Uh, how did he identify the angel?"

"He said something about Grace signatures or something. We'll explain it when we get back to headquarters."

He was left in the dark, for the most part.

"Kevin? Everything okay?" Sam asked.

"Sorry, researching, translating. Being a prophet," he replied flippantly.

"You sure you're okay?"

Kevin sighed. Ever since he had taken up his mantle as _Prophet of the Lord,_ he felt crushed by the gravity of it all. He wasn't equipped to deal with Heaven and Hell and everything in between. "Yeah, just tired."

"Me, too. We'll see you tomorrow."

They finished their farewells and Kevin hung up the phone. For a long time, he just stared into space, just processing everything. His thoughts were running quickly, going back to the possibility that Crowley, despite everything, had been telling the truth. _Prisoners lie_ . Kevin briefly entertained the thought that perhaps Crowley was right and Sam was inadvertently harboring a fugitive. But then again, wasn't Crowley a prisoner himself? Did that mean he actually was lying about _everything?_ He scrubbed his face, frustrated with being too dense to have seen it before.

Kevin got up, to walk around. He moved diligently through the aisles and by habit, he let his eyes scan the books. He saw empty spaces between the spines of several different volumes and knew that those books were sitting at his table, stacked up as he put a pause on the research for the multitude of subjects he had been chasing lately: Curing Dean from his mind-meld curse (because he totally could categorize it as a curse now), angel possession, deciphering the Angel Tablet itself, and he had put all of that on hold to try to figure out where Crowley had gone.

Nothing had turned up yet.

Kevin sighed. And then, he noticed something. A book was missing that he hadn't pulled out. He couldn't think what the book was, but was just aware that he surely didn't take anything from where it used to be. He walked over to the empty space on the shelf. He saw the dust on the shelf except for where the book used to be: Someone had pulled it off of the shelf.

\---

_Caribou, Wyoming_

The four of them--Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Lively--were gathered around a table. Castiel was already tipsy after one beer.

Dean smiled, not affected at all by his alcohol yet. He typically got something stronger, but today this was just a drink between friends and he felt he didn't need it, which surprised him. He glanced up at Lively, who sat across the table, with Cas at her right and Sam at her left.

"So, Hooves," Dean said, studying her face. He didn't know what Sam and Castiel saw--or really, what everyone else saw--but she looked like a monster to him. With her gold-hued hair, and her pale skin and her dark eyes. "How well do you hold your liquor? Cas here is a featherweight apparently."

"I weigh con'sibly more than a feather," Castiel said, slightly slurring the longer word.

Dean laughed. "Sure buddy. I'm just saying you're drunk already."

Lively smiled. "I don't get drunk from alcohol."

"Cream," Sam said, remembering the case from way back when. He had been Soulless, but he remembered that.

"That's right. I actually took a bunch of half-and-half tubs from the diner. The Biggersons. Well, not the one this morning where we, you know, the D-and-D."

"Dungeons and Dragons?" Dean said with a smile. "I knew you guys were nerds."

Lively rolled her eyes. "We are _not_ nerds." Then she poked at Castiel. "Cas. Defend your honor!"

However, Castiel just wore a dazed smile, having drunk three beers by now.

Dean clapped his hands and Sam was laughing.  

"I think I am drunk," Castiel said.

"Well, _obviously,_ Sassa-Cas," Lively said.

"Sassa-Cas?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam pulled his face from his beer bottle to quickly warn his brother. "You don't want to know."

\---

Sam was in the bathroom. The beer he drank had run right through him and he watched his piss hit the pube on the urinal cake. He felt the warm buzz in his head from drinking enough and was feeling dopily happy about it. He buttoned his jeans and went to wash his hands. But then, as he pushed his hair back, looking at the mirror, he lost his time. Because one moment, he was preening himself and the next, he was staring at a message on the fogged glass. _We need to talk._

Sam wiped it away and left the bathroom. He went to Dean, "So, Dean, uh, Zeke wants to talk with me. And the laptop's in the Impala."

"Why can't he just share with the class whatever he has to say?" Dean asked.

"I, uh, I assume it's because of Castiel."

Cas just stared, drunk, sipping thoughtfully from the empty bottle of beer in his hand.

Dean took the keys from his pocket and handed it to his brother. "Tell him to get over whatever issue he has with Cas because Cas is staying."

Sam sighed. He didn't need to play telephone when he knew Ezekiel was listening.

***

_Wichita, Kansas_

Linda Tran was not a thief, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Shoplifting was not too bad. She had shoplifted before for the thrill when she was a young, wild thing, but now that it was for necessity, it was different. She did it with a single-mindedness that was a Tran trademark.

She had a baseball cap and some pale tinted sunglasses that she wore over the clothes that the demons had provided her. They couldn't let her live for a year without a change of clothes and good hygiene. Linda was tired now. She looked at the food which she had purloined. A cheap sub from the gas station and she paid for the soda with the change she picked up outside. She still had the stake she had made with her, tucked in the worn blazer she wore. She moved through Wichita, hypervigilant. She was waiting for a demon to catch her. And while she trusted Crowley as far as she could throw him, she knew he was good for his word. It was there, lurking like an instinct.

He had hinted at her knowing things that nobody else knew. She knew that the dreams she had were sometimes his. That his wearing her body had left some sort of demonic taint to her. She was aware of the things she did. He forced her brain to think like him and understand what he understood and she took a glimpse at his motivations. And because of that, she knew, that whenever Crowley made a deal with someone, he was never going to be the one who backed out of it.

It was simply who he was.

And she hated herself for admiring that.

***

Back in Caribou, Sam opened the door to the Impala and slid into the passenger's side. He pulled his laptop out from underneath his seat and opened it up. "Okay, Ezekiel. You want to talk. Let's talk." He looked at the screen in front of him, the cool glow illuminating his face.

And then, like a jump cut, Sam saw the words against the white of the screen. _I have considered allowing Castiel to stay, but the risk outweighs the benefit. He has no skills to speak of on his own. He has brought with him a creature that won't even show us her true form. And his apparent abilities seem to be quite useless. Wasn't it Dean who said that Castiel got ill when interviewing the families? That he sabotaged Dean's effectiveness? Please convince your brother._

"It's not about how much Cas can help us, Zeke." Sam explained. "It's about how much we can help him. He's obviously not doing well." Sam paused but the screen didn't change. He didn't have a few seconds of lost time. "He's warded well. You saw that tattoo on him. And… you know Dean won't push Cas out now."

_You don't understand._

"What don't I understand, Zeke!"

And Ezekiel pushed Sam into the back of his own mind. He stared at the screen and truly considered telling him everything. But he couldn't and now Sam knew everything. Ezekiel wanted to make him forget, but too many people knew. What was he supposed to do, change all of their memories? That would take too much Grace and would greatly delay Sam's recovery.

He sighed and looked up at the moon, barely a sliver. He put away the laptop under the seat and stepped out of the Impala and walked around outside. Sometimes it was good to just not have to deal with the Winchesters and Castiel and angels.

Ezekiel slowed down when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. He could _feel_ it, another angel. It set him on edge.

"Well, I'm looking forward to this."

Ezekiel turned to the source of the voice. A short, middle-aged man in need of a shave stepped into the light. He looked unkempt and pathetic. Ezekiel frowned. "Metatron."

"And you're not Ezekiel," Metatron smiled, head tilting up.

And not-Ezekiel felt a bolt of panic run through him.

***

"Sam's been talking to Zeke for a while," Dean said. "A long while." He swiveled his head to the door for the umpteenth time, trying to catch his brother even before he pushed the door open. He bounced his right leg, unable to hold still, and it was making her nervous.

"Well, I'm sure he's fine," Lively said. "It's only been about fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds," Cas confirmed, his voice clear.

The clack of billiards balls could be heard over the din of conversation in the bar. Music filled the air so much that people would have to lean into each other to speak together. Dean had the brown glass bottle against his mouth, touching the opening against his bottom lip distractedly.

He knew that it was his new oral fixation, that satisfying it made him stave off the instincts for a little longer, but he pulled it away from his face when he noticed Lively studying him with those dark eyes of hers.

He needed a distraction. "How about we play some pool?"

Lively stood up, hooves clacking on the floor. "Now, hon, I gotta warn you," she said playfully. "I'm pretty good."

"Are you now?" Dean said with a smile.

***

Metatron walked up to Ezekiel. He was the picture of unassuming, but the angel in Sam knew that he was much more dangerous than he looked. Ezekiel crossed his arms defensively and straightened his posture, using Sam's height to his advantage to look as threatening as he could against the scribe of God.

Metatron was unfazed. "Relax. I'm not here to out you. But I am curious, why Ezekiel?"

And then, the facade fell. The angel couldn't feel like he could fight when he felt so guilty. And it almost felt good, for the truth to be spoken aloud. "They say he is a good, and ... honorable angel."

"Ahhhh. Everything they say you are not. I see your point... Gadreel."

To hear his real name out in the open, he felt vulnerable. "The stories about me–they are not true!" The expression he wore on his face did not look strange on Sam's face because the Winchester was no stranger to regret and guilt and shame.

Metatron reminded Gadreel gently, "And yet you spent countless thousands of years locked in Heaven's darkest dungeon. And now you're hiding in this human, posing as Ezekiel." He shook his head and remarked, "Tragic."

Gadreel thought of his time in the prison. And about how much he doubted his father's love for him.

Metatron continued, softening his face more, "It broke His heart to lock you away, you know? You were God's most trusted. That's why He chose you to protect the garden. Your one task was to keep evil from entering... from befouling His cherished creation, mankind, and you failed Him!"

Gadreel had spent almost all of creation trying to understand why he was chosen. He had been so good, obedient to a fault, as if God created him simply to be suggestible and take orders and give the benefit of the doubt. He was meek. God told him he was teaching him to be a stronger angel, that he could easily pass this test, and he failed. "It… wasn't my doing," Gadreel said. But he didn't believe his own words.

Metatron shrugged. "Well, for whatever reason, the serpent entered. The Earth is cursed with evil. Someone had to be blamed."

And it felt good to hear someone distance his sins from who he was. It was _someone_ , not _it's all your fault, Gadreel._ "What is it you want of me, Metatron?"

The shorter angel sighed. "Just to be your friend. You and I go back a long way. I was actually the one who freed you."

"You?"

Smugly, Metatron continued, "I was the one who caused all the angels to fall. Including the imprisoned ones." He looked at Gadreel. "You're welcome," he said, as if he had expected Gadreel to thank him.

Of course, he wouldn't. "There were angels there who should have stayed imprisoned!" Gadreel said, feeling his anger flare up. But as soon as it did, he swallowed it up and looked down. Meek. That was how he always was.

Metatron shrugged. "Look, I know that. But I'm fixing it. In the process, so to speak. And meanwhile, Heaven is completely empty."

"Heaven is empty?" Gadreel frowned.

"You know, at first, I thought I would love it. But it's a big place. My solitude is getting tedious."

"And so?"

"And so... _Plan B._ Rebuild Heaven as the place God envisioned it, only with a hand-picked few. No more anemic functionaries like Bartholomew. And no more stupid angels." He paused and then consideringly said,"Maybe some funny ones." He turned towards Gadreel, eyes bright, "You were His most trusted, Gadreel. You want to take back your reputation? You want to reclaim the Heaven that was? We could do this together."

It sounded so tempting.

"It's okay, I'll give you some time to think," Metatron said as he tucked his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving Gadreel with the admittedly attractive offer: A new, fresh heaven and a guaranteed spot alongside hand-picked angels.

The best of the best only.

Gadreel sighed, letting Sam's cheeks puff out. He smoothed Sam's hair and headed back to the Impala. He pulled out the laptop. _Head back to the bar. Let's get back to the bunker as soon as possible._

***

Dean was showing off at the pool table. Mostly because Lively had said she was good at the game. She wasn't bad at all. She had more control and finesse than the average person and when she couldn't make a shot, she had the habit of just setting up a shot that was impossible to take--in theory. But Dean was better.

Castiel watched with interest, tilting his head this way and that as Dean worked each ball in order into the pockets. There were moments when Dean would ricochet the balls with expert bank shots. And when it was an easy shot, he would put the long cue stick behind his back while smiling saucily, proud of himself. "I've been hustling people since before I had to shave, lady," he said to Lively.

She rolled her eyes. "I get it. I get it. You damn show-off."

Some people watched him on the sidelines, minding their own drinks, but enjoying the charisma and skill of the players involved.

Lively pouted. "How about I play with Cas?"

"I don't know how to play," Castiel replied.

"Oh hon, I can teach you," she said, moving towards the former angel.

Dean stepped between Lively and Castiel. _"I_ will teach him how to play," he said, possessively. He handed a stick to Castiel, who took it awkwardly.

Cas watched as Dean racked up the balls, and then rolling them inside of the frame. He looked up and smiled at his friend. "So, then we break them."

The former-angel looked confused for a second and Lively piped up. "You don't _actually_ break them, Sassa-Cas."

Dean chuckled. _Typical Cas._ He had the cue ball in his hand and set it on the table. "Watch this." He spanned his hand on the felt surface and then lifted his thumb. He slid the cue stick in the V he had formed between his thumb and his index finger. "So, when you do this with your hand, it's called a bridge." He remembered when his father was teaching him this same thing. "I'll show you a couple different ones, but just do whatever is natural."

"Natural." Cas repeated, his own fingers stroking the cue stick nervously, wondering what his bridge would look like.

Dean struck the cue ball, sending the white ball smashing into the group. The result was satisfying as a few of them rolled into the pockets and clacked into each other. "Your turn."

Castiel walked over with his cue stick, he made his spread his hand for his bridge, so it was just like Dean's. He lined everything up and concentrated on where his hands were. He hit the ball lightly, but mostly hit the table. Dean picked up the balls and then repositioned everything as it was before.

This time, he was behind Castiel. "Do your bridge," he ordered, and Cas obeyed. Dean adjusted it and then put his hand over Cas's as he showed him how to shoot pool. "You need to have some punch to it," he explained.

After a few more practice tries, Dean let Cas shoot on his own. He got it in easily. And Lively clapped her hands. "Nice job!"

"I think I understand it," Castiel said.

Dean clapped his hands on the former-angel's shoulders. "Now, we can explain the rules of the game to you."

\---

Sam came back in, looking unsettled. All he knew was that Ezekiel did not want Castiel to come with. He came into the bar and saw Dean behind Castiel, hands on the former-angel's hands. He walked and touched the end of the cue stick that Cas was holding as he aimed. "Keep the butt down," he heard his older brother say. And with that action, he saw that Dean was teaching Cas how to play. And Cas was playing against Lively, who, once again, put a ball right between the eight ball that Castiel was eyeing and the pocket. Sam stood and watched, interested.

"I know what I'm doing," Castiel said. And he was going to take the shot anyways, despite the ball in the way. "Eight ball. That one," he pointed.

Dean studied his friend and then stood away, giving room to Castiel. Cas lifted the butt and studied the ball. He hit it, spinning it so that the ball curved around the one in front of it and hit the eight-ball and into the pocket that he had indicated. Sam, from where he stood, was impressed. When had Castiel learned to play that well?

"I thought you didn't know how to play!" Lively said.

Cas looked at her, confused. "You just watched Dean teach me how to play."

Lively rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah, you know _how_ to play, but now you're better than I am! I _lost_ again."

"Good job, Grasshopper," Dean said, patting Cas on the shoulder. He looked up and saw that Sam had returned, so made a bee-line to him. He heard Castiel saying something about not being an insect as he walked towards his brother.

"Dean. Zeke wants us back at the bunker," Sam said.

"What about Cas?"

Sam shrugged. "We're bringing him. Also, when did Cas sober up?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Y'know. It was a long while ago. So he gets drunk easy, sobers up fast, and took to the game like a duck to water--you see that trick shot he did? That was a masse shot. In a game. That he learned thirty minutes ago." He paused and then added in an awe-filled voice, "I turned an angel into the world's greatest hustler. Damn, I'm probably going to Hell." He shrugged. "Well, again at least."

\---

Back at the motel room, the Winchesters were packing up their things and taking down their wall. Lively tagged along again, mostly because she was Cas's ride and he automatically hopped into her car. "We're checking out tonight," Sam said.

Lively was settled on Sam's bed. Mostly because Dean had guarded his from her and sat the mattress he had claimed just because Lively had almost ended up on it. "Please, Hobo. Can you just stop with the staring?"

Dean snorted and pulled out the duffle bag from under the bed.

Lively undid her hair and stretched out on Sam's bed, her hooves on the blankets. Sam was busy keeping everything neat as he packed the things. Dean revealed a large hunting knife from his jacket with a flourish before he sheathed it and tucked it into his bag. The threat was there: _Do anything to Sam or Cas and I'll kill you_ and Lively thought it was adorable that he still made a show of it to her.

"You brought a knife to the bar?"

"Well, I can't exactly go out naked and expect to have a good time," Dean said with a grin. He looked to Sam, who rolled his eyes and pulled his jacket away from his body to reveal the flash of a concealed gun.

"Really, hon? You, too? And I thought you were the nice one!"

\---

Castiel was with Sam and putting his three completed drawings on a pile with the rest of the evidence that Sam had collected. "I have more to complete," he said. "Eighteen more portraits."

"Y'know you didn't have to draw Lori Van der Specht, right?" Sam said as he studied the two other pictures that Cas had drawn. He had actually captured the likeness of the people rather well despite the sketchiness of the pictures.

Castiel furrowed his brow. "I had not considered the possibility that there were some faces I would not need to put down on paper." He thought about who he could rule out.

Sam smiled and placed the pictures in the files.

***

Kevin sipped his coffee as he went through the library records in the Men of Letters file room. He flipped through file after file and pondered how much better it would be if there was actually a Dewey Decimal system for supernatural texts, translations, and tomes. He was running on nothing but caffeine and guilt currently. His curiosity also spurred him on: What book had Crowley taken?

It was another hour before he had a list that corresponded to that bookshelf. He had the paper in his hand and was matching each title to each book. And for the books without titles, he had to take them off of the shelf and flip through them to get a gist for what they were about. "Okay, so this one is another hunting journal from someone who was really bad at taking notes." And he noted that most of these books had been journals of some kind. "And that leaves…" This one didn't have a title, but the blurb that the Men of Letters left on it was interesting.

_Journal appears to be from the 17th century at first glance, but contains anachronisms which makes it hard to date. Likely the journal of a psychic who saw far into the future._

A journal. Crowley got himself captured and cunningly orchestrated his escape on his own for a journal. That "Well, that raised more questions than it answered," Kevin said.

***

"Lively," Sam said as he finished packing everything. "I know how Crossroad Demon deals work. How do the Fae deals work?" He walked over to his bed, which Lively was comfortable in.

She rolled onto her belly, kicking her feet back. She looked up at Sam with bright, gray eyes, chin propped in her hands, and her hair just a little bit wild.  "Well, it's much the same. But we don't deal in souls all the time like the demons do. You do something for us; we do something for you sort of thing. As long as both parties call the trade fair." She looked towards the front door, Dean was out, having gone on a walk. Castiel was in the bathroom.

"I'll see if I could figure out how to fix your brother," Lively said. She glanced at Sam, who wondered how she knew what he was going to ask, but was thankful he didn't have to voice it aloud. "I'm observant, hon," she explained. "It's something that comes about when you've lived a couple hundred years alongside humans."

Sam was uncomfortable with the idea of recruiting a fairy he barely knew, but he thought it was Dean's best shot to get more people on board. Relying on Kevin for everything should be taxing for the poor guy.

"What would be the price?" Sam asked. "For you to do something."

She shrugged. "Depends on what's wrong with him."

"We still have the spell," Sam said. He could get Lively to see the incantation and the ingredients to the potion herself and perhaps she'd be able to think of something to reverse it.

"That helps."

Their conversation would have to end their because Castiel came out of the bathroom, looking refreshed. "I am urinating with greater frequency than is usual," he stated.

"That's because you were drinking alcohol," Sam explained. Just then Dean came back in. "You done?" Sam asked his brother. "With your walk, I mean?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Dean replied. "So, let's hit the road."

 


	12. Hebb's Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do enjoy this chapter. Thank you so much for reading and for your concerns about my hand. I did write a lot less often the last two weeks and I think it did help it heal a bit faster than if I had stubbornly wrote at my usual pace. 
> 
> We get lots of plot thingies in this chapter. Really exciting stuff!

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

Castiel glanced to Lively, who shut off the Volvo. They were parked outside of a motel called the Rock-a-Bye Inn. The Impala followed and parked beside them.

"I don't see why you can't come to the Bunker," Cas said.

Lively shrugged. "Hobo and Sammerino don't want me in their clubhouse right now. That's fine," she said.

"You've… helped me a lot," Castiel said. He shifted in the seat, undoing the seatbelt. Lively studied him. He still had a lot of the obedient soldier in his personality--loyal to whoever fought in what he believed in. Willing to contort his beliefs to fit the cause he had been assigned. She thought it was a miracle that  _ he,  _ out of all the angels, rebelled against Heaven. Though it had a lot to do with the Winchesters--he did it for Dean, after all.

"You've helped me some, too."

"With what?" Castiel paused and he considered his words, "And don't say for three slices of pizza."

"Y'know, you can't escape a fairy who owes you something." She said it with a flash of a smile.

"Put that way, it doesn't sound too comforting, Lively," the former angel replied, looking uneasy.

She laughed. "It's time to head out, Sassa-Cas."

She exited the car and Cas did as well. Lively patted the top of the car to get his attention. "I want to leave you with something, a gift." She went to the back of her car and leaned against the small trunk. She motioned for Castiel to do the same. He did.

"What gift?"

She looked up at the sky. The morning was still so new that the sun hadn't yet chased the darkness away. Her eyes had adjusted because, though Castiel saw them as those familiar gray eyes, they were truly dark and luminous in the night, catching the barely-light of the moon in her eerie green eyeshine. She could see him, study him. She saw his stubble growing in. His hair, newly cropped to a length just long enough to be messy. She sighed.

"Just this moment, Cas. Savor it." She leaned forward and kissed him. To her surprise, he kissed her back and was quite good at it. His tongue did interesting things in her mouth and she felt a little bit of his teeth against her lips. He did just enough to make her breathless and leave her intrigued. "Oh my."

"You were kissing me. Is it not customary for me to kiss back?"

"Hon, for fairies, a kiss is a promise to finish a deal."

"Like a Crossroads Demon?"

She looked offended. "Those demons took the tradition from us. It just ties our fates together."

Cas looked worried. Lively stroked the growing stubble of his cheek. "See, hon, after that kiss, no matter what happens, I'm going to pay you back for those three slices of pizza." She winked.

\---

Sam watched his brother. He had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, anxious because Castiel was interacting with Lively without his presence.

"You know, Lively seems like a good character," Sam said. A lot of it had to do with the fact that she had agreed to help him find a cure for Dean. Because, as it stood now, he was  _ not _ going to have his brother act like this for the rest of his life. "She actually agreed to stay at a motel room instead of come down to the Bunker. She can't be all bad."

Dean huffed, not wanting to have another fight with Sam. "Have you  _ seen  _ her? I mean  _ really  _ seen her? Remember how pretty Ruby's meatsuit was?"

"What does Lively look like to you?" Sam asked, curious.

"Okay, she's not that ugly." Dean admitted, "She looks like some sort of mystical fairy-faun thing that you'd find in the Narnia movies."

Sam raised his eyebrows and stared at Dean.  _ You watched the Narnia movies?  _ He said without speaking a word. 

"I watched them with Ben, okay?" Dean said, turning his eyes to watch Lively and Cas having a moment to say goodbye behind her Volvo. "Kid loved those movies. He watched the first two so he was ready to watch the third in the theaters."

Sam had taken him away from that apple pie life with Lisa and Ben. He felt a pang of guilt for it. He kept looking at his brother, trying to figure out just how much Dean missed the kid. That life. There was no going back to it. "Hey, I'm--"

Then suddenly, Dean said, "Oh come on! No!"

"What is it now?" Sam asked, feeling a bit thankful that Dean's outburst interrupted his guilt-filled apology.

Dean snorted and when Cas came up to the Impala, he glared at him. "I bet she tastes like goat."

Cas sighed. "Fae kiss as a promise to finish a deal."

Sam interjected. "Like a Crossroads Demon?" And he recalled that Lively hadn't kissed him at all yet and was thankful of that fact.

"There ya go.  _ Like a Crossroads Demon _ ," Dean repeated pointedly.

"Apparently, the kiss is a fae tradition that the demons stole," Cas informed them.

Sam nodded, though he'd have to research the information that had come to light. He didn't trust that Lively would help him now that he realized that she was able to make official deals. Perhaps the reason she hadn't sealed it with a kiss was to leave it open-ended. Maybe she didn't really want to help them. Maybe she had ulterior motives.

***

_ Wichita, Kansas _

Del hadn't been able to smoke out of the meatsuit he wore. And it aggravated him. It meant that Crowley did something to him that day that he showed up at Castle Storage. Del had set up a little ritual. He had a goblet prepared in the kitchen. As he did so, he wondered what sort of person Del's brother really was. Not because he cared in any human capacity for the brother, but because he wanted to know if he's the type of person who was punctual or perpetually tardy. All he knew was that after he possessed the poor kid, he cut off communication with his meatsuit's family. He got a new last name and left town because he had an important job to do for the King of Hell. And what a bust that turned out to be. 

At 9:40 am, he heard a knock. Del stood up, walked to the door, and opened it and a man who looked a lot like him stood just outside the threshold. This man was taller and more portly, built like a mountain. It seemed that he was the type of guy who came twenty minutes early to everything. But it just might be because he was meeting his long-lost brother.

He put his hands on his brother's shoulders. Meanwhile, Del glanced at the contact with a look of contempt, but didn't move. He flickered his attention back to the new houseguest. "It really is you, Del," the man said, exhaling in relief. "We were looking for you, y'know."

Del shrugged the hand off of him and then stepped aside, "You came alone, yeah?"

"Well, I… I didn't want to get mom's hopes up. Besides, you said you wanted this… you know, on the downlow."

"Please, sit." Del gestured towards one of the living room chairs and was pleased when his brother sank into one of them. Then, he walked into the kitchen and pulled a drawer open. He took out a knife and tested the edge by running his finger along it. Next, he picked up the goblet.

"So, how have you been doing?" Del's brother asked.

"Oh, you know, lost my job. Stuck here. It's been a really shitty week." He moved from the kitchen to the living room, standing at the point where the two rooms were joined in the open floor plan.

His brother looked relaxed, as if having your long-lost little brother just talk shop was the best thing he could have done. "Oh? That's why you called? Need some money or help or something?"

"Or something," Del answered.

"So, what happened?"

Del smiled and then chuckled. "The truth? Well, it's my boss. He's an asshole."

The brother perked up, eager to listen to his brother, get the family back together again. His brother leaving had been a disaster. "What'd he do?"

"So, I had a co-worker. His name was… shit, what was it again…"

"Did he promote him over you?"

"Not really. He killed him. So I guess that's the opposite of promoting someone."

Del's brother laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Dammit, what was his name? It's on the tip of my tongue. Anyways, I wanted to do it. The killing thing. And he  _ took _ that from me. So I was doing everything just as I was supposed to: Guarding the women at the storage like he asked, making sure they didn't die or whatever. So what if I tortured them a little bit, it's not like it hurt them. Well, not too badly. Okay, I might have broke that one lady's legs, but I gave them clothes and food like the boss wanted. They were alive. What more could he have asked of me?"

"Del, this joke stopped being funny a while ago."

"Can you just shut the fuck up?" Del said. "I didn't ask you here to chat with you and do this whole family thing or whatever the fuck you think you are here for. I asked you here to kill you. Can you at least let me rant and rave about how shitty my boss is before I cut you open?" He scoffed. "Holy shit. What's with all the greedy, self-centered assholes I seem to attract." He sighed. 

Del watched as the man launched himself out of the chair and started towards the door. He raised his hand and then telekinetically threw the man against the floor. "And no you don't. It's rude to leave the party when it's just getting started. Dickwad."

"Del! What happened to you?! Please, I'm your brother."

Del flashed his black eyes. "Oh, really?" He raised the knife and sliced him across the throat. He caught the blood in the goblet, filling it to the brim.

He let the man fall to the ground, writhing in pain and choking on his own blood. His suffering was inconsequential to the task that Del was hoping to accomplish. He set it down. "Barry," he said it. He squatted down to the dying man on the ground. "Just remembered that guy's name was Barry. You know, all of the time I spent in Hell? It makes all of you humans look the same: Meat. Skin. Weakness. You've got nothing on a demon." He patted the man's clammy cheek, getting blood on him and then wiping it on a clean part of his victim's shirt before standing back up.

He went to the goblet and started chanting the incantation. The blood started to move and swirl. He dipped his finger into it, caressing the crimson liquid inside. "Crowley's back," he announced to Abaddon. "He was different."

The liquid bubbled and he heard the demonic whispers back. An idea in his head rather than her voice. It felt like steam that filled up his skull.  _ Different how? _

"Mostly human. Less of a demon. Less powerful."

_ Did you kill him? _

Del frowned. He licked his lips. "No."

_ So you couldn't even kill him at his weakest? _

Excuses flowed out of his mouth. "He had his Hellhound with him. You know the one. And he did something to me. I can't smoke out of this body. I'm stuck, stranded here, and I was hoping that you could fix this."

_ Fix it yourself. I don't want a demon in my ranks who can allow themselves to be bested by a mostly-human salesman. Prove yourself. Fix yourself. _

And the voice stopped. Del dropped the goblet, throwing it on the ground and spilling the blood everywhere. He could feel the real Del inside of him, wailing in his mind. His consciousness screaming at the fact that he had just killed his brother. The demon relished in the man's suffering, taking comfort in wearing the skin of a man so tortured by his actions. Despite this, he wanted the option to be able to smoke out of this body should the need arise because he had betrayed the demon who shaped him into what he was now and he was stuck in the same body and all Crowley would have to do is whistle and that damn Hellhound would be on him.

After Abaddon got him over to her side, he hadn't expected to be trapped on earth in the body of a college dropout who had just killed his brother. Once he left Del's body, the poor kid would probably be sent to the nuthouse, awake for most of what had happened to him. Conscious of everything that his own two hands accomplished at the will of a dark entity. 

And that's when Del remembered something: Linda had been possessed by Crowley. Perhaps he might be able to gather information from her about whatever Crowley had done to him.  _ Former _ King of Hell might be harder to find with the meagerest of his abilities intact though probably by now he had regained much of his power, but a human woman? Piece of cake.

***

Kevin hadn't expected Dean and Sam to be back at the Bunker so early. He had expected them to come tonight, not before noon. He was walking through the halls with a half-eaten Pop Tart in his mouth when they arrived. He had finished cleaning the main rooms, polishing the floors that he thought Crowley might have strolled through. Then, he heard a familiar gruff voice join the Winchester's banter. Panic rose in his chest, but it would have been stranger if he hadn't emerged to greet them all.

He saw Castiel. The former angel was thin and tired looking, a match for the prophet, actually. Both of them had been through their own trials and Kevin wondered what he had been through. Every time he had seen the angel before, he hadn't been this sad, broken creature. Cas turned to face Kevin. His blue eyes no longer contained that otherworldly power behind them--that almost electric gaze that slightly glowed with the Grace his vessel contained. 

"Kevin," Castiel said. "It is great to see you." Pleasantries were as awkward as ever, but there seemed to be a warmth to his words that Kevin hadn't heard from the angel before. It was a slight difference, but one that the prophet noticed. Humanity. The angel had humanity now.

"Yeah Cas, same. Glad you're back."

\---

Despite Castiel being there, the Winchesters and Kevin were still busy. They couldn't possibly stop now that they had gotten that break in Caribou--a name,  _ Turiel _ . And that might lead to whoever was leading the side opposite Bartholomew. 

Dean was settled. He was himself, as he typically was after a case. But he kept wiping at his nose, the lemony fresh smell of the newly cleaned bunker areas offending his sharp sense of smell. Castiel wanted to help and was continuing to draw the faces he saw in the memory he peeked at. Sam was on the laptop, resuming his research, but behind the browser windows of angelic lore, he was pulling things up about fairies.

Sam watched as Kevin carried a stack of books over to their research station, already completely annotated and cross-referenced with several different sources of lore. "This is everything I have on Turiel. Well, all of the angels that escaped angel prison." He dropped the stack down with a thump. 

"Where'd you find the time to get all of this done?" Sam asked, suspiciously. He flipped through some of the notes. They were really in-depth. He skimmed through them and had a headache when he was trying to read the angels that Kevin picked as Heaven's Most Wanted. He continued to read and felt a sensation like a stab to his head when he got to the name Gadreel. He winced at the sudden pain and rubbed at his temple with his fingers.

"Something wrong, Sam?" Dean asked, standing up. When had Dean been so quick to worry? So attentive?

"No, Dean, I'm fine."

"No more lying," Dean said. "Remember? That's what we decided."

Sam sighed and cradled his head in his hands. "It's just a headache. From all the stress." Perhaps he was juggling too many problems at once. He was too interested in Lively's little fairy deal that he needed more information about it. The lore wasn't saying much about the connection between Crossroads Demons and the fae. What Castiel said this morning pretty much had confirmed it.  _ "Apparently, it's a fae tradition that the demons stole."  _ And Sam didn't want to make a deal that had anything to do with demons--it never had gone right for either him or Dean. 

Sam stood up.

"Where are you going?" The prophet asked.

"Out. Pick up something for the headache. We're almost out of the stuff. Do any of you guys want anything while I'm out?"

\---

The drive to the motel was not very eventful. Sam knocked on her motel room door, his laptop under his armpit, and she let him in. "Back already? I take this visit has something to do with the last thing we discussed in Caribou?"

Sam set up the laptop at the table and fired up his laptop. "Yeah."

"And I take it you haven't told Dean about it yet?"

He looked up at Lively.

Lively gave him a judgmental glance. "Hon, it's better for everyone if you were just honest about this whole thing with your brother. He doesn't know you're here."

"It's fine. Everyone's busy with something else."

"Ah, yes, the angel thing." Smugly, Lively sat in the chair across from Sam. "Y'know, you could have gotten me a better motel room." The cheap room's walls were off-white, but in a way that advertised that how grimy everything was. The table had scratches and marks in it. "But seeing how you gave me the money for it, I really can't complain." She raised a knee and hugged it, resting her cheek on it as she watched Sam.

He turned the laptop around and showed her the spell that they had used.

Lively lifted her head and leaned forward, dropping her raised knee. "This spell is interesting, actually."

"Why?"

She gestured towards the screen. "This turn of phrase here, I recognize it."

"From what?"

"Okay, I don't recognize it-recognize it, but I know that it makes this thing here more than a run-of-the-mill spell. The spell is like a  _ contract. _ And so, I need to see the actual spell. In person. So I can see the terms. If you mess with one of these guys, then sometimes, it makes it a lot harder to undo." She tilted her head and looked up at Sam.

"Harder to undo," he echoed and then supplied, "Because you are breaking the contract. I wish  _ I  _ had taken the potion… did the spell."

"Well, about that... I think only Hobo," she paused as Sam narrowed his eyes to that strange nickname she gave his brother. "Er… Dean could have done it, anyways."

"Why's that?"

"I'm willing to bet that an unwritten part of the spell is that you'd have to have eyes that can see through glamour. Like Dean can."

Sam gave her an inquiring look.

"Fairies don't deal unless the other party is able to understand the terms of the agreement. You understand what I'm saying?"

Sam nodded, though was intrigued. "A fairy authored the spell."

"Bingo." She raised a finger to gesture that he had made the right reply. She tilted her head, "Hey, Sam. How about Bingo for your nickname?"

He gave her a stern expression that dared her to continue using that name.

She quirked her eyebrow, "So, Bingo's a no go." 

And the way she said that sentence and the cheeky smile on her face made Sam feel like she had planned to say it the whole time. He collected his laptop and got up to leave.

"Bye, Sam," Lively said, as he stepped towards the exit.

He paused, standing between the table and the door out. He couldn't leave without learning more about the deals that she could make for him. He faced Lively. Mentally, he measured the words that he had actually come to say. In the lore, the fairies were bound to the truth, but they were masters at stretching it, manipulating it, tearing it to pieces. If Crossroads deals were like a used cars salesman hitting you with a bad deal, then these guys were like lawyers--sharks that made sure that they got the best end of the deal while making it sound like you were getting ahead and saying nothing false all the while. Sam had almost been a lawyer. He could handle this.

He turned to Lively. "You haven't tried to make a deal with me."

"Of course not, hon," she said with an easy smile.

"Do fairies take souls like demons do?" Sam asked carefully, though he knew the answer from his research.

She hummed and then said, "We can, if we wanted." She confirmed what he already knew.

"But you  _ wouldn't  _ want to, right?" he asked, trying to fish for information and figure out her intentions. Fairies couldn't lie, not really. Only stretch the truth.

"No. I would not want to take your soul," she said, making herself completely clear. However, she was suspicious now.

Sam asked. "If you are truly our friend, then what about a deal where it's fair for both of us?"

"No," she said, stamping her foot and not bothering to glamour away the noise of her hoof striking the floor.

Sam had fire in his eyes, he rose up to his full height, automatically relying on it to try to intimidate the much shorter fae. "And why not? Is it that you want to make sure the deal or whatever favors you?"

Lively walked up to Sam, her gray eyes intense on him. Her smile was predatory and for the first time, he could see that there was the possibility that she was something other than human. Despite only coming up to Sam's chest, she was intimidating and powerful. "You want the fae's kiss so badly, Sam? When you know nothing? That's a dangerous game you all play. And look at where it's gotten you boys: Your brother is trapped in a doozy of a spell that the both of you do not understand. You are so broken that an angel has to wear you to keep you from dying." She softened her face and was the sweet, demure woman that Sam had grown accustomed to. Though, those gray eyes were so sad and she looked so lonely. "And out of all the things you boys could mistrust, you mistrust me."

"Lively. I'm sorry. I just wanted to--"

She smiled and her face was so weary. "I  _ will  _ help you and your brother, Sam. Look, we don't  _ need _ to make a deal sealed with a kiss. What I can do for you is simply a favor for a friend. We're friends, right?"

"Right," he said. It was hard to deny that after saying what she just said. As Sam left, he wondered why she could kiss Castiel and not him. What was there in a fairy's kiss? Why didn't she want to give him it?

\---

As Sam shopped, Gadreel was thinking. He had been aware of Sam's trip to Lively and through his actions knew how desperate the Hunter was to fix his brother's issue. He remained in the back of Sam's mind. Lurking there, watching.

_ "So, Gadreel."  _ It was Metatron linking telepathically to him. Not something he wanted to deal with right now, but there was no escaping it. _ "Have you thought about it? Joining my cause? It's the third option--refusing to pick sides to the Civil War that's happening right now. Aren't you done with the angel-on-angel violence as much as I am? You see, why not do away with it? Make a new Heaven with the proper angels. The good ones. Circumvent the fighting completely." _

And it was there again, that temptation. Since the beginning of humanity, Gadreel had been the bad angel, one of the worst. And here, it was his chance to be one of the proper ones, as Metatron called them. He watched idly as Sam read the ingredients on the label of a can of soup. The hunter put it back after deciding that there was too much sodium in it.

_ If I were to join you, how would you change the minds of the other angels?  _ Gadreel pondered. It didn't matter if one angel considered him a good guy because he had been imprisoned for millennia. His crime was that he ruined humanity. 

_ "Well, of course, you'll have to prove yourself. Do some work. You'd have to do a lot to turn that reputation of yours around." _

Gadreel's great transgression was letting the serpent into the garden, but didn't they know that all he did was let his brother in. Lucifer said that all he wanted was a chance to explain his side of the story, for redemption. All he did was manipulate Gadreel and get him thrown in prison and be made an example of. Here he was, standing in the place where Lucifer had once stood--asking for a chance to turn things around. Perhaps that was why he thought he controlled the situation.

_ Okay, Metatron, what do I have to do?  _ Gadreel asked mentally.

***

Dean opened the can of soup. His brother had started making sandwiches while Castiel moved between the two of them, studying the art of making tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. 

Dean wiped at his nose. He snorted.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Cas asked. 

"Kevin cleaned up the Bunker and it's messing with my nose." He picked up the can of soup that he had just opened and then breathed it deeply. Tomatoes were so much better than the acrid scent of citrus mixed with harsh chemicals.

"Never bothered you before," Sam remarked.

"Well, he definitely went spring cleaning. You think being cooped up in here is turning him into Holy Howard Hughes?"

"Maybe," Sam said, distractedly. He turned on the electric griddle. 

Dean took over cooking the sandwiches and put Sam on soup duty when he somehow burned the first grilled cheese sandwich. "Give me that." Dean snatched the utensil from Sam's hand. "Hey, Cas, I'll show you how it's done." He flipped the cake turner in his hand, tossing and catching it with a flourish. "I've been cooking for Sammy ever since he was a baby." 

\---

The four of them--Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Kevin sat at the table. Not crowded, as it was a large table. The Bunker was designed for the Men of Letters and assumed that the group would be massive. They still had their research on the surface, though it was pushed aside to make room for their lunch. Dean was beaming, proud of the gooey sandwiches.

Castiel looked at his tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. "They often served this soup at the shelter," he said.

Dean lowered his eyes. Sam pitied Cas for being cast out of the Bunker, forced to eke out an existence in the world without a penny to his name. Meanwhile, Kevin wondered why Cas hadn't stayed here the entire time.

"I liked the beef vegetable soup that was served on Thursday nights the best."

"My mom has a good recipe for beef vegetable soup," Kevin offered. The air between them all was a bit morose now. Kevin didn't say that she was alive, but both Winchesters knew that he believed it in his use of the present tense.

"Do you know how to cook it?" Castiel asked, bringing the conversation back to safety inadvertently. He only wanted to know if he'd get to taste some good beef vegetable soup again. 

Kevin shrugged. "Probably. I can make a list. But, there's a few things that I'll need to see myself." He slumped. Perhaps they'd never have anything more than canned soup and sandwiches as their home cooked meal.

"Actually," Castiel said. "Perhaps Lively can help."

"Lively?" Kevin asked. 

Dean said, "Yeah, Cas got a girlfriend while he was doing his own thing."

"She is not my girlfriend," Cas insisted.

"She calls him Sassa-Cas," Dean teased and took a massive bite out of his grilled cheese.

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Sam sighed. "Really," he confirmed.

"Why?"

"Don't ask," Sam and Dean said together--Sam's tone was serious while Dean just shared all that he knew about the subject--which was  _ don't ask. _

"She calls Dean Hobo," Castiel informed them, just thinking of it now that the subject was on nicknames.

Kevin smiled. 

Dean tilted his head at the prophet's reaction and an inquisitive noise escaped the hunter. At that, Kevin explained, "Hobo is a dog who goes around and helps people. I used to watch the show when I was growing up. It was my mom's favorite."

Sam looked it up on his laptop after getting a spoonful of tomato soup in him. Dean got up and leaned over Sam's shoulder to read about a show called  _ The Littlest Hobo _ .

"She's been calling me Canadian Lassie this whole time!" Dean said.

"Okay, back to what Cas was saying about Lively helping," Sam said after thinking about where Cas was going with that suggestion. "Remember when the police didn't notice when you flipped out on Lively in Caribou? She did something."

"It's her glamour," Castiel said. "She could come out with Kevin."

"But does it work on angels?"

Dean, Cas, and Kevin turned to face Sam, the only one who was harboring an actual angel inside of him and the only one who could answer the question.

"Well, Zeke?" Dean said, feeling weird for addressing someone else while staring at his brother.

Sam's posture straightened and he looked more serious, less expressive. His eyes flashed blue as Gadreel manifested. And this was the first time that Kevin saw the transformation, though it wasn't the first time he interacted with the angel--he remembered hearing him on the phone. His voice was Sam's, but it was stilted and stiff. Gadreel gave a terse answer. "It does."

Castiel studied him closely, but his expression was impossible to read.

Sam came back and blinked his eyes. "Well, what did Zeke say?"

Dean relayed the information that Zeke's two words gave them. "So yeah, fairies can put their whammy on angels, too." The news was good because now Kevin had a means to safely leave the Bunker. Perhaps save his sanity or even look for his mother.

"Fairies? So, angels and demons and now fairies?" Kevin asked. He wondered what happened in Caribou.

\---

They finished their meal. Dean had taken to cleaning the weapons, tired of looking at research documents, and needing something to do with his hands. He liked keeping busy. He looked up and saw Kevin going at the research with renewed vigor, having more energy now that he had more food in him. Castiel was drawing another sketch. Sam was also working on the case, hacking databases to try to find a potential match between missing persons and the pictures that Castiel was churning out.

Sam got up and out of the chair, needing to pee.

Dean got up as well.

"Uh, I'm going to the bathroom. What are you doing?" Sam asked.

Dean sat down, slightly embarrassed. "Nothing, okay?" he grumbled.

Thankfully, his little brother left it at that and headed to the bathroom.

Castiel and Kevin went back to work.

Dean was listening. He tilted his head this way and that to catch all of the sound. To help with his concentration, he shut his eyes. He heard the bathroom door unlatch and then close and the stream of piss. Sam washing his hands. Then, the door opened again. He listened for his brother's footfalls and stated, as casually as he could, "He's not coming back here." He looked to Cas and Kevin and this time a bit of panic was in his voice, "If he's not coming back here, where's he going?"

"Well, it's Sam. He probably is just going out somewhere," Kevin said.

"Why is he going out without telling me?"

Dean stood up and ran down the hall, into the garage. He saw Sam about to enter the vehicle. It wasn't Sam who went into the car. He sprinted up and almost roared, "Zeke!" He was justified in being suspicious.

"Dean," Gadreel said quietly, the door still open.

"Where are you going? Tell me now!" He growled. He was losing his grip on his humanity. He could feel his instincts coming alive like fire in his brain. It was getting hard to control.

"I'm helping you and Sam." Gadreel didn't really answer Dean's question, just made more.

"With what?" He managed to ask.

"With the angels. I think I know how to fix it. All of it." Gadreel shut the car door and started the car as Dean walked up to it. He got his hands on the door, but was dragged down a few feet before he had to let go. He had stumbled, his knees scraped up and his jeans ruined. "Sam! Sammy! Come back!" He wore the most forlorn expression.

Gadreel shut the garage door as he drove out into the world, leaving Dean behind without his brother Sam. Dean felt his emotions swelling up inside of him. It was a feeling like he was never going to see his brother again and it panicked him. His breathing got heavier and faster, like he couldn't possibly take enough air.

\---

Kevin and Cas followed soon after and they saw Dean pacing in the room, unable to settle. When he cast his green eyes towards them, they couldn't see  _ him _ . Just an animal. He had his head lower and moved aimlessly, sniffing at everything in the garage. Kevin wondered why he hadn't just let himself out of the room. Once Dean noticed them, he whined and backed himself into a corner, squatting on the floor. 

The former-angel could feel the raw emotions coming off of him. Bestial, primitive, intense.  _ He's gone, he's gone. He left me. He didn't want to leave. I did nothing.  _ They weren't really words in his head, but ideas. If reading a mind was like reading a journal, this was like watching a vivid, but abstract painting come to life.

Castiel looked to Kevin to see if there was some protocol they were supposed to follow if Dean was like this in the Bunker. But the young man looked completely clueless about how to handle this.

"I've never seen him this bad," the prophet said.

"I have," Cas said, his gravelly voice seemed to get Dean's attention. "In Caribou." He hunkered down, making himself look unthreatening. He lowered his hand, putting it forward, offering it like one might to a frightened animal. Dean crawled out of his corner, but then went backwards again, not trusting the situation.

"Hey, Dean," Castiel said soothingly in his deep and rough voice. "It's me, Cas."

Kevin watched the scene unfold as Dean started to move away from the corner on all fours, head stretched out and the weight of his body indicating that he was ready to run off and hide again should the situation go South.

And then Dean sniffed Castiel, putting his nose up against the hand that he former-angel had stretched out and then up his arm. Then he was way too close, sniffing Cas's dark hair and the back of his neck, causing Cas to feel a tingle down his spine. He remained silent and so did Kevin, so the only thing they could both hear was Dean's snuffly breaths. Finally, Dean broke off, apparently satisfied.

_ Safe. _

The idea filled his head and Cas could feel the relief settle in Dean's bones. The former-angel looked to Kevin. "This helps calm him," he said as he started to run his fingers through his friend's hair, petting him gently.

"We  _ need _ to fix this," Kevin said, nervously.

Castiel tilted his head and looked to Dean, who was now leaning deep into his touch, giving a blissful groan.

***

Gadreel parked the vehicle under the bridge. He had gotten Metatron's memo in his head while the boys were eating their lunch. The afternoon was still bright, though the sun would be setting soon. He felt guilty for leaving Dean like he did. That questioning, betrayed expression haunted him. What if this was the wrong choice? He exited the car.

Metatron strode into the light from out of the shadows of the bridge, looking quite like a troll as he did so. He wore his smarmy smile and had his hands folded behind his back. "Gadreel, so nice of you to have made it."

"It wasn't easy," Gadreel said. "So, what is the purpose of this meeting?" 

"So you can see who I am, get to know me, and get your first assignment."

"And that is?"

Metatron got a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Gadreel.

"Why not just tell me like you told me to come here?"

"Because, you don't know who can be listening in on Angel Radio," Metatron said, taking the Winchester nickname for the system by which angels communicated. "The only confidential lines are when humans pray to certain angels and only humans can use those. We really need to fix that system once we get Heaven started again. It will make it easier to do things."

Gadreel wondered to himself:  _ If Heaven was fixed, why would there be a need for secret channels?  _ He took the piece of paper and unfolded it. On it was a single name.  _ Kevin Tran. _

"What's this for?"

Metatron used his finger to mime a slice across his throat. Gadreel had spent enough time on Earth to understand that the action meant that Metatron wanted Kevin dead.

He looked down at the piece of paper. He couldn't do it. But he mustered out, "Why does he need to die?"

"Well, we can't have prophets anymore in the new heaven. They complicate things. And they are dangerous. Do you know how many angels just want to get their grubby little hands on him to turn the tide of their war. With a prophet, you have access to the other side's secrets once they figure out how to use him."

"But do we really need to  _ kill  _ him?"

"Do we really need to have angels killing each other over trying to own him? Besides, have you really seen him? He's tired, worn out, and strained. It would be a kindness. Like helping a sick dog shuffle off its mortal coil." 

Gadreel still couldn't do it. He couldn't imagine doing anything like that, but somehow, he said, "I'll, I'll think about it."

Metatron snorted. "Well, you better think fast because a chance like this? A chance for redemption? It doesn't come very often. You forget that this is my chance, too. I've made mistakes, but who hasn't?"

Gadreel lowered his gaze.

Metatron reached up and touched him on his shoulder as he walked past. "Look, Gad, I know who you are and I  _ still  _ want to help you. Do you think if those boys knew who you are, and I mean who you  _ really _ are, that they'd still accept you?" Then, the shorter man disappeared under the bridge again. The lights of his own car flashed on and he drove away, leaving Gadreel with his thoughts. The angel in Sam looked at the piece of paper and ripped it up, throwing the pieces into the wind.

***

Kevin and Castiel had gotten Dean down the hallway and into his room. He was still a little out of it, in that he definitely wasn't Dean yet, but he also seemed a lot calmer. Castiel sat with him on the bed while Kevin had gone off to do research and clean up the mess that they had made.

Dean's head was in his lap and Castiel stroked him down his back and felt a content sigh escape the hunter. There was no such thing as personal space right now. Castiel was probing his head, waiting for that moment when Dean would realize where he was and what he was doing and get offended. But it never came, instead, he felt the thoughts becoming more and more coherent. Castiel was surprised when Dean didn't get up despite being in his right mind now--for the most part.

"Do you remember what happened?" the former-angel asked. Dean was so close, Cas could count the faint freckles on his face.

Dean groaned. "Ugh, don't remind me."

Castiel stopped. 

"You won't tell anyone?" Dean asked. He knew that Castiel could read his mind. He was asking for the angel to continue just a little bit longer. He felt like he needed this to remain grounded.

"Of course not," Cas replied and he put his fingers in Dean's hair again. His fingernails touched so lightly upon his scalp, and then he ran them down his neck, and reaching his arm as far as it could go down Dean's back.

"This is so gay," Dean remarked.

"Gay?"

"You know. Homosexual."

Castiel tilted his head. "I didn't know you thought of it as sexual."

"Dammit Cas! Why'd you have to ruin everything!" He said as he batted the former-angel away and lifted himself back into a more upright position. They sat next to each other in bed. After a moment of heavy, awkward silence, Dean said, "It wasn't… that, by the way."

Castiel nodded.

And then, Dean perked up. "He's back." He jumped up to his feet, hurrying to greet Sam.

"Dean," but he had already left.

The former-angel smoothed the sheets over the place where Dean once sat. It was warm to touch. Cas wondered why he felt so disappointed and attributed it to being Graceless.  Without Grace, he was practically human. Even when he was an angel, Dean always chose Sam. Over the fate of the world itself, he would choose Sam.

\---

Dean stood in the hallway, facing the newly returned Gadreel. He stopped short and froze, standing nearly ten feet away. The angel possessing Sam stopped, too. "I'm sorry," Gadreel said. 

Then, Dean ran up to him and was about to hit him, but he abandoned the action and dropped his arm to his side when he saw that it was no longer the angel, it was his brother. "Dean? What happened?" he asked, dazed. "It was Zeke, right? How long was I out?"

"I… I don't know." It felt like a lifetime had passed when he was out of his right mind, acting like an animal. He didn't even know why he acted like that. It started when Sam got up to go to the bathroom and he had the urge to follow after him. He wiped at his mouth and then looked up to his brother. "Sam, we need to fix everything. Heaven, Hell, you, me."

"Yeah." Sam sighed. Dean was right. They both knew that the situation they were in was dire. But it took tonight for both of them to finally face that fact. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Cas & Kevin get Dean into his room: [See Spot Run](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8324830)


	13. Reciprocal Altruism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This chapter was very fun to write despite being low on fluffs.

***

_Lebanon, Kansas_

Dean and Sam were out getting Lively. And that left Castiel and Kevin in the bunker alone. Of course, both were working. Cas was working on portraits and Kevin was working on research. "Hey Cas."

The former angel remained focused on his task, not taking his eyes off of it.

"Cas," Kevin said again. "Hey, Cas. Are you listening? Or are you--"

"I am listening," he said.

"Oh, uh," Kevin could have said something about how people should look at each other when they speak, but he knew from interacting with Castiel before that his attention would either drift elsewhere or he'd stare so hard at you, it was like he was gazing into your soul. The prophet gathered his thoughts. "What do you know about Ezekiel?"

"A good angel. Faithful. Kind. Loyal. Unfaltering. A good soldier." Cas said as he continued sketching. The side of his hand was silvery-gray with graphite when went to reach for the pencil sharpener.

"So… do you think the angel in Sam is Ezekiel?"

Castiel paused. He glanced up at Kevin, turning those intense, blue eyes upon him. Kevin knew what he was trying to do--read his mind. Immediately, he filled his head with the thoughts of the case itself, forcing out any ideas relating to his failure about Crowley.

It seemed to have worked because Castiel lost his concentration and then turned back to his drawing. "I hope so," the former-angel finally said.

"Plan for the worst, hope for the best."

\---

Dean was driving the Impala to Lively's hotel room. He kept glancing over at Sam, waiting for that moment when Ezekiel would show his face and explain what last night was about. He glanced over at his brother.

"Any word from Zeke last night?" Dean asked.

Sam crossed his arms.

"I heard about what happened last night. You lost it."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sam, you'll drive her car and bring her to the Bunker."

"I can barely _fit_ in that Volvo."

"And I'm not having my brother driving _anything_ alone. Especially not Baby. Especially when you could get kidnapped by your split personality," Dean said. "And I'm fine. I don't know why that happened last night."

They looked ahead at the stretch of road. Move forward. That was all they could do. Hopefully, Cas was right and Lively would be a good ally. But they just had to think of Castiel's track record with the ladies. They always turned out to be real bitches.

***

_Elwood, Nebraska_

Linda was washing dishes in the restaurant. Head down and living under the name Linda Hopp. She thought of her deal with Crowley. Not a demon deal, he said. And that kiss was so passionate and warm. She touched her lips gently with her fingers, trying to make sense of what she had actually caught herself up in. According to Crowley, she just had to be who she was and he'd protect her son. And she didn't like the implication that all she had to do was be herself and she'd be useful to that demon.

She wanted to go and find her son. But what if the act of doing that put Kevin in danger?

She scrubbed at the dishes, working at a stubborn piece of stuck-on food. She was deep in thought as she worked meticulously. Multi-tasking came natural to Linda. She _wa_ s a mother, after all. And a damn good one, too. Her son was a remarkable young man. She paused for a second, caught up in a moment of memory. Her hands gripped the slippery plate tightly. Linda resumed her task as usual. She watched as one of the waitresses pushed more plates towards her.

The restaurant owner walked through the kitchen, keeping an eye on everything and motivating the cooks as they were starting to get swamped by the orders. Rush hour felt more intense than usual, but it always felt tough in the moment and when it was over, they'd sigh and laugh and talk about it like it was just another day on the battlefield.

\---

When her shift was done, she headed back to her motel room. After checking the salt-lines and the devil's traps three times over to make sure everything was in working order, she made her way to the kitchen. She cooked a quick noodle dish and opened up a wine cooler. She sat cross-legged on the bed, leaned over a cheap netbook, and sipping at the glass bottle in her hand. The cool glow of the screen lit up her face. She didn't like to sleep anymore. Bad dreams and all. But eventually, sleep would find her.

***

_Lebanon, Kansas_

Lively wore a blindfold. She sat in the passenger's seat of her Volvo while Sam drove it, the steering wheel hitting his knees. Driver's seat was pushed back as far as it could go. She felt sudden stops, and starts, the jolt of her vehicle being ornery to a man who didn't understand all of its quirks. _"Easy_ on the brakes. Geez, it's like you're trying to kill Willit, Sambo."

"Don't call me Sambo."

"Samquoia?"

"What?"

"Like sequoia but Sammed up. Since you're so tall."

"My name is Sam. _Sam_ . You don't need to come up with anything new. _Why_ do you even do that? Sassa-Cas, Willit, Hobo, whatever… why?"

Still wearing her blindfold, she said. "It's a fairy habit. We don't like using someone's real name because there's power in a real name--to the fae. You can add to your own strength or take away another's. Ah, remember the story of Rumplestiltskin? They simply had to know his name and they got the asshole. By the way, Rumplestiltskin was an asshole."

She didn't have to explain all of this to Sam, but she did anyways, wanting to win his trust because Castiel trusted him. She missed the blunt honesty of Castiel. Meanwhile, Sam was throwing up this facade that everything was fine when he was panicking. He was being furtive about his project to help his brother's condition when he should be open about it. These boys had a stupid honor and pride about them.

She was observant enough to know, even if she couldn't see him, that nothing was okay for Sam right now. He was desperate. And she would help him. She was happy to do so.

"So, is the blindfold really necessary?" she asked.

She didn't hear his answer, but she imagined his expression: Crossly affirming that _yes, it was absolutely necessary._

\---

The Impala was still warm and Dean leaned against it when Sam came in Lively's Volvo. Dean cringed at the sound that the rusty vehicle was making. Poor car needed some love and he wondered how it was even running right now because it looked like it ran on nothing more than a miracle. It was leaking oil and was rusty. Sam parked the car and Dean could hear it rattling as it stopped.

He saw Lively inside, her pale, gray-tinged skin, the golden hair. She took off her blindfold and now he could see her dark eyes. She looked up and around with unabashed curiosity. Finally, she looked to the older Winchester.

Dean smiled when their gazes met, mostly happy that he didn't have the instinct to either look away or flare at the challenge. He crossed his arms and raised his chin, complacent about how easily it came to him. "So, Hooves. I want you to know I don't trust you."

"Well, I wonder why that doesn't surprise me," the fae replied, rolling her eyes.

"But Cas trusts you. If you make him wrong for believing in you, I _will_ make you pay for it."

Lively nodded. "Understandable."

Sam put his body between the two of them. "Guys, let's stop this pissing contest and get inside."

\---

Kevin watched thin former-angel. He was concentrated, drawing furiously, and working on his third portrait that morning. Castiel stopped and looked at his hand, alarmed.

"Something wrong?"

"My hand is… doing something," Cas said, wincing.

"What do you mean?" Kevin said, alarmed. Was this some sort of angel dying thing? Alien hand syndrome?

"There's a tightness and it's painful," he poked at his right hand, worried.

Kevin relaxed. "Oh, sounds like it's cramped. Like massage the pain away or something." When Cas continued to look confused, the prophet demonstrated on his own hand, using his thumb to work circles into different parts of it.

Castiel clumsily started to massage his cramped hand.

"Well?"

"It's better," Cas said, flexing his hand. He looked up. "Why does it do that?"

"You're overworking it. We're all overworked." Kevin sighed. He pushed a book over to Castiel. "Hey, take a break from the picture."

Stubbornly, the former-angel continued drawing.

\---

Not too long after that, Kevin paused when he heard footsteps and the clip-clop of hooves against the floor. _It must be Lively,_ he thought to himself. All he knew about her was that she was apparently a type of fae called a glaistig. And when he looked up some of the lore, he saw a frightening creature with hooves and strange powers and a taste for human blood.

Dean entered the room first. His shoulders were tense as he walked across the room and pulled out a knife. The clip-clop of hooves grow more distinct until Lively came into the room, and then, it disappeared.

All the Kevin saw was a petite woman wearing a long, green patterned skirt. She had many necklaces dangling down her chest, metal and stone pendants clinking together. Ash brown hair and warm, gray eyes. She looked normal. Her glamour was up, but Kevin had suspected she'd choose a more beautiful appearance. She was modest looking, pretty, but not someone who'd turn heads. She was studying him herself and made no attempt to hide that.

Sam came out behind her and stood between her and the doorway. A quick glance to where Dean was revealed that both brothers had strategically and naturally placed themselves in such a way that she couldn't easily escape. This wasn't just a typical meeting. Kevin knew that this was a test: _Could she really be trusted?_

_***_

_Minnow Creek, Michigan_

Crowley stood at the large windows in his ritzy hotel room, a glass of dark wine cradled in his left hand and his right carrying the journal. He was watching the cars go by below him, noticing the funeral procession below. "Dark days for the dead," Crowley said. "Sad thing is, that sorry soul isn't going to Heaven. At least the weather's nice." The sunshine filtered down, bright and glinting off of the line of cars below. The escort vehicles had their hazard lights flashing. "Heaven's a mess while the angels bicker. Hell's not much better with a brute stirring trouble up." He sipped his glass, relishing the deep, juicy wine. He was more of a scotch man himself, but he could appreciate a drink like this: Old, dark, and complex. He put the journal into his coat.

There was a woman behind him, huddled in the old chair, trying to look as small as possible next to the powerful being at the windows. Mutely, she watched him from where she was. She had been one of the prisoners that he had kept at the Castle Storage.

He poured her a glass and handed it to her. "You look like you need it," he said, kindness warm in his voice.

"Th-thank you." Truly, she hadn't yet met the King of Hell. She knew he was something other than human because a snap of his fingers took her here with him. She gratefully took the glass of wine from him. "Um, what are you?" She sipped at the drink.

"Truthfully?" He smiled. "A demon."

She spit out the wine, staining the carpet and the upholstery of the chair. She shrank back from him, remembering Del and his cruelty. Remembering the smell of sulfur and the yellow dust collecting in the room in which she was imprisoned. _Demon_.

"I'm not like the other demons," Crowley explained. "But I _promise_ I'll let you go and reunite with your family if you do one thing for me."

She set the glass down, not drinking it, but reminded quiet.

"Pray, Bev, that's it."

Her eyebrows raised, questioning him.

"A demon can't bloody well pray for an angel. It's _unnatural_ ," he said with a showy shudder. "Besides, all you have to do is fold your hands together like so," he picked up her hands and put them palm-to-palm. "And ask an angel for help. That's it. Praying is easy. One of them is bound to come. They're supposed to watch out for people like you, so at least one of them ought to be fed up with their political whatever." He got himself back on track. "Anyways, just pray. Do that for me and you get to go home, join your family. Well, darling, what do you say?" He remained there, bent down so he could meet her eye to eye. His forehead was wrinkled inquisitively. "Well?"

She twiddled her thumbs, bit her bottom lip. "How do I know…?"

"--If I'm a demon of my word?" He finished for her and then answered his own question, "I always hold up my end of any bargain."

Bev could see he was proud of that statement. But she still didn't trust him. The worst thing that he could do was lie. Surely if praying for an angel turned out to be some sort of trap for the angel, heaven would forgive her. God would forgive her.

She folded her hands and prayed. She paused and looked up.

"Keep praying," Crowley ordered. It would take awhile before her prayers were answered; angels couldn't fly anymore. He poured some liquid in the threshold from an ornate pitcher.

"What are you doing?"

"It's for our angel friend. Holy oil," Crowley explained. He got a rope and started to tie the young woman up. "Temporary measure."

***

Lively was very much aware as to why they had brought her here. She could sense the danger in the air and she glanced at Castiel, who had a faithfulness that nothing bad would happen to her because the Winchesters would see that she was _safe_. He believed that they would see she was a friend. She smiled tenderly at him and wished that she could share that same faith. But she couldn't.

Not when Dean twirled an iron knife in his fingers and Sam looked like he would pounce her if she so much as moved wrong.

The atmosphere in the room made her heart beat fast and her muscles tense. She couldn't be too careful now. She looked at the prophet and was quite surprised. He didn't look anything like she had expected.

Kevin was Asian-American. Dark hair that was unkempt due to lack of care in his own grooming. He looked tired, spent, and like he had simply submitted himself for this role that he had been handed. She thought it wasn't fair. Though he looked worn, she saw a brightness in his expression. A fire that meant he was the type to finish that which he started.

Lively outstretched her hand for him to take. "I'm Lively," she said with a amiable smile. "You must be Kevin."

"Y-yeah," he said as he took it and she felt him give a handshake back. Unsure, skeptical, mistrustful. He was like the Winchesters--not the type to easily trust. They had been through terrible things.

She grinned. "I'm not what you expected."

"Uh."

And Castiel piped up with what Lively had been telling him for the entire time he had known her: "She's observant."

"That I am." Then, the fae clapped her hands. "Okay boys, how can I help you?"

They all remained grim. She scanned her eyes over them. Her gaze bounced from Dean to Cas to Sam and then to Kevin. They were actually really good at their poker faces, or perhaps they didn't know exactly what they wanted from her.

She caught that look that Dean gave Sam. They were so co-dependent that there was a whole conversation in that split-second. And Sam said, "You can hide Kevin from angels. It makes more sense to have… an ally." And Lively saw Castiel smile in satisfaction as Sam spoke. "...that can do that."

"But you still don't trust me."

"There is a way you can get our trust," Sam said. And she knew what he was saying between his words. She knew what his sentences really mean.

She nodded. "Make a fairy's deal." And not only that, but make one that obviously benefitted them than it did her. She rose up to her full height, which wasn't very tall compared to the Winchesters. "I will do it."

Sam started to move towards Lively, but she shook her head. "I will do the deal with Hobo." It was really more or less a strategic move. She picked the single person in the room who was the least likely to trust her because he was the one who saw her as she really was. Because she could see how important this was to them through this. And also, what she wanted to ask for, she felt that Dean would best serve it.

The taller, younger Winchester looked at his brother then shrugged. Another conversation that she wasn't privy to.

"Fine," Dean said. He stopped playing with the knife, but was holding it tightly, ready to use it. She knew he did that to make himself more comfortable. To be more dangerous put him at ease. What dangerous men Castiel got himself tangled up in! "But only if I don't end up in Hell, Purgatory, dead, insane, broken, a monster, or cursed."

"Hon, I promise." She could feel his scrutiny, and she knew that if he saw her in the way the other boys did, he probably would have been freer with his trust. But as it stood, she looked like a monster to him.

"And fairies can't lie," Dean said. The tension disappeared as he tucked the knife away. "So, is it going to be a fair deal?"

"Win-win," she chirped and then revealed what the deal would be: "I keep Kevin hidden. You keep Castiel safe."

"Fine, let's get this over with." Dean shut his eyes tight and puckered his lips. Then, Lively gave him a chaste little peck on his warm lips.

"Done," Lively said after they barely touched.

"Wait. That's it?" Dean asked. "What about Cas sucking face with you?"

She noticed that little spike of jealousy in Dean's voice in the same way she had been noticing the touch of possessiveness he held for Castiel at the bar in their last night in Caribou. An effect of the contractual spell. "Well, hon, you'll have to ask him about that," the fae said with a smile.

And then all eyes were on Cas.

"Well," Dean prompted.

"From what I've seen, most instances of _kissing_ looked like that. I have also partaken in reading about amorous physical contact involving the lips as well as having experienced it myself in multiple occasions. I only acted in such a way that reflected the majority of the cases I have seen. I am told I am quite adept at the procedure."

"First of all, stop looking at porn like it's something on _National Geographic,"_ Dean said. "Second of all, kissing is not a procedure. That's the _last thing_ you can call kissing."

_***_

Bev still had her hands folded and mumbled a prayer. The young woman lowered her slim brown hands. "What if no angels are coming?"

"They are coming," Crowley replied with certainty.

"How do you know?"

He smiled. "Let's say I'm privy to some insider information."

\---

The lights flickering was the first sign that Bev's prayers had been answered. Then the radio started to play music. It wasn't too long after that when she heard a knock on the door. She looked from the door to the demon Crowley.

"Told you," his voice was dark, deep, and smokey. And even a touch playful like this was all a game to him.

"How do I know if it really is an angel?"

Crowley produced an angel blade. "She'll have one of these." He paused and then looked squarely at the young woman. "Oh, and she'll heal you."

"Heal me from what?" Bev asked.

Then, Crowley suddenly stabbed Bev in the gut and placed the blade hilt deep in the woman, causing her to scream out. He twisted the knife cruelly before Crowley disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

The door burst open and a woman wearing a brown park ranger's uniform came in. She ran immediately to Bev, worry worn on her face because she had come moments too late. Her large, doe-like eyes were apologetic. "I'm sorry."

Bev whimpered, in too much pain to speak coherently. "D-d…"

"Hush, hush," the woman said. "You're going to be fine now." She pulled the triple-edged dagger out of Bev's stomach. Her eyes widened when she recognized what the blade was. She put her hand on the victim's abdomen while looking over her shoulder for whatever or whoever had done this to the woman.

"You are an angel," Bev said. "You really are an angel." She smiled weakly.

And then, the angel heard the snap of fingers. The uniform-clad angel turned around to try to find the source. When she looked back at where Bev had been to see if she was safe, the woman was gone. All that was left was a small hole in the seat she had been sitting in and blood on the upholstery.

"Took you long enough," Crowley said. "Angels," he scoffed. "Even when you guys could still flit around, you always were late to the party." He sauntered into the room, confident because he controlled the situation.

"Demon," the angel said. She brandished the dagger, knowing that it could kill the demon. He snapped his fingers and the flames rose in a circle around the angel. She narrowed her eyes, knowing what trapped her here. "Holy fire."

Crowley smiled. "Hello."

The angel narrowed her eyes. "Where did you take her?"

"Her family. Like I promised. Now she's off with her mother and father in some gross, sloppy display of filial love." And in a mocking tone, Crowley continued, "And she's happy." He resumed his normal tone. "Anyways, she's fine. I didn't hurt the little bunny. Okay, I stabbed her. And twisted the knife in her guts. But you are an angel. You would have healed her. And if not, well, you're here anyways and that's all I ever wanted."

She had venom in her eyes.

Crowley smiled. "I just want to talk."

The warm, bright light of the flames was like a burning fence between them. The angel in the circle of holy fire crossed her arms and glared at the demon, still holding the angel blade defensively.

"So mum's the word? Really? What have you got to lose? As I understand it, Heaven is not doing well. A civil war is brewing…" He noted her expression fell when he mentioned the civil war. "Unless it's already been brewn. It has, hasn't it?" She only looked away and that confirmed it. "Well, who's side are you on?"

"I'm on nobody's side. I'm neutral."

"Dangerous," Crowley said, impressed. "That would explain why you have two angels following you."

Her eyes widened.

"You have been on the run, have you? Now, just say the word and I can get you out of here with a snap of my fingers."

"I don't need help from a _demon._ "

"Whatever," Crowley said. "But the offer still stands: If you need my help, just place that blade on the floor."

He snapped his fingers and disappeared, leaving the uniform-clad angel behind. The holy fire still burned around her, but the flames were starting to get shorter. Two angels came in. She wondered what she had to lose. Angels were being killed for not picking a side and she didn't want to have Bartholomew pick a side nor did she want heaven in anarchy. She wanted Heaven restored to what it was supposed to be--when all that was asked of the angels was obedience.

This demon said that all he wanted to do was talk. And though he wanted her to disarm herself, she was an angel and could smite him if it came down to it. Another angel wasn't so easy to kill. Two against one if she stayed as well.

"Looks like poor little Muriel tried to help the wrong person. How about we help you out there?" This angel's vessel had long, stringy hair and a receding hairline. His face was thin and his eyes were tired. "I know you are afraid, but right now, I'm the leader who knows what it's like to fight alongside the angels. I know what the lesser angels know. This is our chance, _our chance_ , Muriel, to make Heaven _ours."_ He hung his head. He didn't look like a leader, but Muriel knew that he had commanded enough respect that other were following him.

"What's changed? Why are we all fighting now?"

"I called a meeting with Bartholomew's faction. Do you know what he did? He didn't even bother showing up. This is war if he can't even acknowledge the needs of angels like you and me. I'm only trying to gather my allies."

"You've been killing our brothers and sisters," Muriel said.

"He _has to!"_ The other angel said. Though his vessel appeared larger and more powerful, he was subordinate to the first angel who spoke. "If you don't stand with us, you stand against us." He drew his own angel blade. Both he and his superior stood outside of the holy flames which encircled Muriel. They were dying down and they bided their time, waiting for that moment when they could grab her.

Muriel knew she had to make a decision fast. And what she did do was relax her hand and drop the blade. She expected to hear that metal clatter on the floor, but instead, Crowley appeared behind her and caught the blade when it barely left her hand. It was like he knew what she would pick ahead of time.

He stuck it in his jacket and then wrapped his arm around Muriel. He looked at both of the angels. "Well, it was nice of you to drop in, but unfortunately, I have plans." And Crowley snapped his fingers and he and Muriel disappeared as the ring of fire finally disappeared.

"Malachi, that was a demon," the subordinate angel said to his superior.

The thin-faced angel stared at the burn marks on the floor, at the space that Muriel had once occupied. He stayed quiet, studying the situation. "That was not just a normal demon. That was Crowley, the King of the Crossroads," Malachi said. "But what could he want with an angel?"

***

Cas was showing Lively where she would be staying while she was at the Bunker, which left Dean, Sam, and Kevin working on the case in the main room.

Dean scratched at his ear. He sat near Sam and his chair had been edging closer and closer to his brother. He bumped Sam with his head, idly asking to be pet on the head, but instead Sam shot him a hard glare. Immediately, almost like a reaction, Dean growled.

"Dean!" Sam said. "What the hell!"

He stopped himself. "I can't help it! Geez. I told you to stop being such a hard ass about this. Maybe I need training?" Dean smiled in jest, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam's face tensed and was about to object.

"Actually," Kevin interjected. "Uh, dog training might not be so bad of an idea." He remembered Crowley's suggestion when he tried to get answers for Dean's condition.

"Really, Kevin?" Sam said. "That's the last thing that Dean needs!" He stood up. His brother needed to be treated more like a human, not more like an animal.

"Where are you going, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"I need to stretch my legs," he said, his anger adding a sharpness to his tone. It broke his heart to see his brother wince at the harshness of his voice. Both Dean and Kevin let him go. But all he could think was that he couldn't stand to see his brother like this. He needed to fix this. And he remembered what Lively said. She needed to see the real copy of the spell in the tome from which it originated from. He headed to the file room, just so he could quickly see where it was located without rummaging through the library. If he was going to keep this little project between himself and the fairy, he couldn't be caught looking for the resources.

\---

Sam came into the file room and was searching the cabinets for something. He mentally prepared himself for Crowley's jeers, but there was only silence, which was quite out of character for the King of Hell. Sam took advantage of that as he flicked through the files and found the folder that contained Inuit spells and the location of the books within. He noted a mark next to the one that Kevin had found for them to use.

"Gotcha," Sam said. He memorized it and then stuck it back in the filing cabinet. He looked up to the entrance to the dungeon. Surely, if Crowley had heard him, then he'd have to say something.

"Crowley?" Sam called. "What are you up to?"

_It's a trap. It has to be a trap._

However, Sam pushed forward because he had an angel in him and he had an exorcism ready if the worst happened. He wouldn't go in there unprepared. He opened the door to the dungeon. And when the door swung open, Sam's heart sank because it was the worst possible scenario.

Crowley was gone.


	14. Blind Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was exciting, wasn't it. Deals being made. Now you get to see what Crowley needed the angel for. I made a [DeviantArt](http://ammymckay.deviantart.com/) to post the arts I do and I'll probs do more commentary stuff on the journals about the chapters. I only have a portrait of Lively so far. I also made a portrait of Cas, but haven't posted it yet. I'll do Sam & Dean next. I only draw as a hobby and just have colored pencils and use my cellphone to take a picture to post online, so I can't promise anything amazing, lol.

***

_Lebanon, Kansas_

There was a crisis in the Bunker and Kevin had no clue why he thought he could get away with something like letting the King of Hell escape. All five of them: Dean, Sam, Kevin, Castiel, and Lively sat at the table in the main room.

Dean bounced his leg, unable to sit completely still. The sense of foreboding in the room was getting to him. Cas sat next to Dean, contributing small things to the conversation--which was about Crowley's disappearance. Sam was tense, but kept his cool despite it all. The Winchesters were trying to discuss what had happened. The theories ranged from the likely to the completely implausible.

"But how could he have done that, Dean? He was in chains, in a devil's trap. And most importantly, _why_ would he just sit in there for months and just come out now? We have to think about why he would…" They continued talking it through, both of them a little tense.

"Any clues in the room?"

Sam shook his head.

Kevin sat near the rest of the boys and Lively was a little bit more separate, not yet familiar enough to push her chair near them. She watching the boys with interest. Soon, she turned her attention to Kevin, who tried to hide his guilt and panic, but she picked up on it.

"You know something about it." Lively said, reading him as carefully as she had read the others. One of the theories that emerged was that _she_ had aided the demon's escape and she would not stand to be falsely accused.

Then, the boys stopped their chatter and turned towards Kevin, who had been largely quiet the entire time. And he cracked almost immediately. Guilt had consumed him for a long time. "I was asking him for information in return for my blood."

Dean said, "So what? You just offered up your blood to the King of Hell and didn't ask what he wanted it for?"

"You don't get it. He _looked_ like he was really addicted to it. I mean, he got really angry and desperate when I didn't give him his fix."

Sam averted his eyes, remembering the taste for demon blood that he once had--that sometimes he still had. He just pushed through his temptation if it ever arose, but it was always there, deep in him, lurking. And Sam remembered that moment when he saw Crowley injecting himself with a vial of Kevin's blood. And he remembered the touch of thirst it gave him. "Go on," Sam said, tersely.

"Well, he wasn't addicted to anything. And I thought I was working him because he… well, he gave me a lot of information that checked out in the end. But he was working me at the same time."

"What did he want with the blood?" Dean asked.

Before Kevin could explain, Sam recalled their attempt to turn him into a human. It had almost killed him in the process and was a huge reason they were in this mess with Ezekiel. Sam wouldn't forget how to cure a demon for the rest of his life. And it all made sense now: Why he had been adamant that he got Kevin's blood rather than his own. "The demon curing ritual: He needed purified blood."

"And you can't get much purer than the blood of a prophet handpicked by the Big Guy upstairs himself," Dean remarked. "But why would he want to do the demon curing ritual?"

"Because demon traps work on _demons."_ Sam said, rubbing his temples. He was annoyed, angry even, because they lost their leverage for Hell.

"I can't see the King of Hell giving up his demon-ness just to walk out of here," said Dean. The brothers started musing aloud and it was like they were on the same wavelength as they reached the only logical conclusion.

"Err," Kevin said, sheepish. "He could, you know." He snapped his fingers. "And the cuffs came right off. Then he…" And Kevin swiped his hand. "The knife right out of my hand."

Sam's face was stern. "So, he was human enough to get out of the demon cuffs and step out of the trap."

"And had enough demon juice to use the _Force."_ Dean continued right where Sam left off.

"I'm sorry." And Kevin lowered his head and looked the picture of remorse. He wished he could take it all back.

"Why," Sam asked, exasperated. "Why would you do this?"

"I just wanted to be more helpful." Kevin wondered how much of what Crowley said was true. Most of all, he wondered if it was true that the Winchesters would abandon someone who had inconvenienced them or throw away those who were no longer useful.

Kevin's shame struck a chord with Castiel. The former-angel said, "Perhaps if we heard him out…"

And Kevin began to explain.

***

_Elwood, Nebraska_

The light from the midday sun filtered through the blinds. Linda was slumped forward, her netbook still open and her breath coming out in sharp pants. She was in the full throes of a nightmare. And her nightmares were memories. She dreamed of her time in the storage unit. The tortured screams of the others that were trapped in there. She remembered huddling in the darkness when the winter months would bring the chill and she'd shiver, folded into herself in a fruitless effort to warm herself up. She remembered taking off her clothes as sweat dripped from her head and down her chin in fat, warm drops during the summer.

And there were the thoughts that swam in her head while she was in there. Her mind remembered when Crowley filled it up. When he wore her skin, changed her thoughts, commanded her actions, and fit her to his purpose. She remembered how old he was. How rich and deep were his thoughts. How inhuman they were. The way his own morality worked had little to do with her understanding of good and evil and had its own agenda.

And most of all, she remembered how small she felt. Like he was a god that could crush her with a thought and leave her body as an empty shell, but he chose not to do that.

She startled awake and found herself staring at the blank screen of a dead netbook. "How long…" _was I out?_ She still had a lot of sleep in her limbs, but she powered through and got herself up and picked up a gun. She automatically found cover and moved low along the wall to check the salt lines at the windows and doors. Unbroken. Everything was just as she had left it. She sighed, but never really relaxed. She wanted to cry out and bang her head against the wall. But all she did was gather her resolve and see that she had two hours before she had to leave for work.

She put the netbook on the charger before turning it on and skimmed through articles--both news articles and tabloids. _Does it look like it could be our kind of weird?_ She remembered the Winchesters asking each other that when they would judge which case to take next.

***

Things started to become more clear the more Kevin went on. First, the prophet went over how he learned that Sam was possessed by an angel. Though he had figured it out on his own, he explained that he used Crowley to try to get a name on the angel. And all that the King of Hell gave him was the hint that the angel in question was probably an angelic criminal. And collecting the information about the potential criminals that might have escaped Heaven's prison when all angels were cast out and fell to Earth.

"When I heard it was Ezekiel, I was relieved," Kevin said. He didn't share that he gloated in front of Crowley, proud of himself. "But in light of recent events, we need to consider the possibility that Ezekiel is not who he ways he is. He needs to explain himself."

And Castiel remembered that doubt that Kevin had earlier. _"So… do you think the angel in Sam is Ezekiel?"_

They all looked to Sam, as if to expect the angel to manifest right then and there. Of course, he didn't. They were in a precarious situation. They needed the angel in Sam to keep him alive. And Sam knew that they needed him alive to have any sort of chance with the threats that were coming up: A broken Heaven, an Angel Civil War, and, not only that, but the King of Hell was now free again.

Lively said, "Well, he isn't going to poke his head out if everyone's gonna jump on him as soon as he comes out." Sam noted her coming to the missing angel's defense. 

But, Sam agreed with Lively. "You're right. So we'll deal with the whole Ezekiel thing later." Neither Dean or Cas liked that.

Dean gave his brother a look and they began their silent conversation: _Sammy? Really? He let the King of Hell out!_

Sam returned it with a glance: _Being mad at him doesn't help us._

Dean huffed and then rolled his eyes as Sam took control of the questioning, "Kevin, what else did you learn from Crowley?"

The prophet sighed as he continued. "Okay, so after that thing with Dean in Caribou, you asked me to research more into finding a cure for the mind-meld thing. And, since Crowley _is_ good with spells, I thought I'd ask him about the spell."

Sam was curious.

"Well, he said that the cleansing spells that we tried had made it harder to undo. He said that whoever wrote the spell made sure of that."

Dean snorted. "Awesome."

"But that's not how spells usually work," Kevin stated. "I researched about the other spells, but witch magic isn't like this. This spell isn't like other spells."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was something that Lively had said as well. Though she expanded upon it and said that the spell was a contract written by one of the fae.

But then, Kevin continued speaking, "The more I researched it, the more I realized what it was for. The one who took the potion and did the ritual was supposed to go out and hunt _something_ and sacrifice it to Nujalik: An Inuit goddess of hunting on land. And that was it, they'd go back to normal."

Sam looked to Lively with suspicion. What she had shared with him earlier in their meeting was that the spell was authored by a fairy, not a goddess. However, what she had said about it being a contractual spell was true. He needed to talk with her about it later.

Dean looked to Sam. "You think that's why I'm more settled after hunts?"

It made sense, in a way, but there were sometimes where Dean wasn't very improved at all. "I don't know…" Sam said.

"I don't think that's the whole story about that," Kevin said. "But I'm working on figuring out the pattern. Cas helped me find a new direction to look into."

"And?" Dean prompted as he leaned forward. Sam folded his arms, listening.

"It's starting to look like we're going to have to do what Crowley suggested if we want to get a handle on your behavior."

Sam had a queasy feeling he knew where this was going. It had been suggested by Kevin a few times and he had always wondered where the prophet got the idea from. _Of course, the King of Hell would suggest this._

"Training," Kevin said.

Both Winchesters exchanged a look of _Oh, hell no._

Lively quirked her eyebrow in interest. "It does make sense. I mean, it's not like Hobo here is acting like something more exotic. He's acting like a dog. And out of all of the animals you guys could have picked, dogs tend to be rather easy to handle--with training."

"Besides, Cas did get Dean walking on that leash. Sorta."

Sam opened his mouth, "I am _not_ going to teach my  _brother_ to walk on a leash."

"But when he behaves as he did last night, he's nearly impossible to control," Castiel said. "It took us sixty-two minutes to move him from the garage to his room. He displayed many concerning behaviors and destroyed Kevin's sweatshirt."

"Hold it, don't talk about me like I'm not here." Dean paused until he had everyone's attention. "So, the training thing, I'll do it. Last night was... well, it was beaucoup crazy. Might as well try to get me acting like Lassie if I'm going to lose my head like that."

 _"Hobo,"_ Lively corrected. "You realize Lassie was supposed to be female."

"Actually," Castiel said, "The dogs who played Lassie tended to be male."

Sam was mortified with what was going on, but there were bits and pieces that Dean had told him about last night.

Dean smiled and said, jokingly, "Hey, I thought you liked dogs, Sammy."

"You aren't a dog…" Sam said through gritted teeth. "You're my brother. Why not just _keep_ you from going into dog-mode and just keep you acting like yourself--"

Dean gave him a hard look: A glare that interrupted Sam's sentence.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Right now, this _is_ me, Sammy. I don't go away when I go all Cujo. I'm still there! And when I'm me, it doesn't disappear either, it's just… I always have to... keep it together. And if this makes it easier..." His words were failing him. Dean was not the most eloquent individual.

But he made enough of his point to Sam for him to understand. He remembered that moment they shared by the river, skipping stones. That he should stop being so judgmental when Dean did make a mistake. Though he wouldn't apologize, Sam just dropped the whole thing with a sigh that filled his whole body before he released it. "Fine."

And neither brother said anything, afraid to turn it into some chick-flick moment that they really didn't need right now. Both of them knew it was there, just the same as Sam's issue with Ezekiel was there.

"However, I need to know something," Dean said, turning his attention to Castiel. "How do you know about Lassie?"

"Trey told me," Cas said. "He often told me important pieces of trivia."

"Gas-n-Sip Trey?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded and Sam felt left out of a story, but he remembered Dean mentioning that Cas had a job at the Gas-n-Sip in Rexford when his brother went after a case to prove he was okay.

***

_Minnow Creek, Michigan_

Muriel sat in a chair, cuffed with chains that had Enochian sigils on them. She was collapsed, held up only by the chains.The room was dark with a single bare lightbulb hanging above her head and making the shadows long and dramatic. She had a steel halo around her cranium, and she recognized the device from Naomi's usage in 're-educating' disobedient angels. She wondered how a demon knew of this--especially one who was relatively new in the grand scheme of things: Crowley started life as a 17th century tailor. It wasn't like he was one of the newly minted humans toiling in the cradle of civilization. He wasn't one of the first few demons. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the steady footsteps approaching her.

The lightbulb flickered above her. She wasn't doing that, as she was inhibited by the sigils. A demon then. Muriel shut her eyes and sighed. Crowley opened a door that squealed on its hinges. He shut it quietly behind him. He glanced at a pocket watch before he walked up to Muriel.

"If I knew you were just going to torture me, I wouldn't have gone with you," Muriel said with a grimace. However, the alternative--going with the angels would surely have had her tortured and then killed.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "I didn't say anything about torture. Besides, I'm in a different sort of mood. Isn't this what angels do to each other, anyways?"

"I should have known demons lie. How does _this_ help me?"

And to that, Crowley only smiled. "I am not lying. I will help you." He picked up a long stake and readied it in his hand, eyeing the point on the angel's head he wanted to drive it into.

"Only Naomi knew how to do this," Muriel said, wriggling. It was true: Naomi had used this knowledge to ensure she had a top-ranking position in heaven. And she guarded what she knew from others else they would have found a different angel for it. Naomi wasn't the most fun angel to work with.

The demon smiled, before saying, cryptically. "And who do you think she learned it from?"

Muriel fell quiet, trying to figure out what primordial creature could both know this and have the motivation to teach a demon who started life as a 17th century tailor.

"You know what I'm thinking of right now?" Crowley asked as he drove the stake steadily into Muriel's head. She tried to wriggle, but as soon as it went deeper, her vessel seemed to disconnect from herself. Her tongue went heavy in her mouth and her head dropped, but she could still listen. "I was thinking of a play I saw last week. It was put on by a college in somewhere-don't-care. Anyways, in this play, there was a man who was a slave. He had a rope around his neck. Orders were barked to him and he obeyed. And at one point, he was asked to _think._ This whole civil war reminds me of that. Angels are fallen and they are asked, for the first time in eons to think." He picked up another one and one by one, put them into place. Some he turned as he pushed the metal spikes in position. Some of them were barely inside before he stopped pushing them in. And some were driven so deeply, that they must have touched the other side of her skull. Of course, by now Muriel couldn't speak. "So, I'm thinking: Lucky," Crowley said with a smile that was almost tender. "Just how _lucky_ you are."

He tamped one of the deeper stakes carefully with a hammer. Muriel spoke in Enochian.

"Ah, now there are the factory settings," he said.

He twisted a few metal rods and pushed one in deeper while pulling another one out a little further, like he was fine-tuning a machine. The angel could hear and feel every single movement of the stakes in her head. When he was done, Muriel weakly lifted her head, drooling a little bit from the corner of her mouth. "See? That's all I wanted." Crowley smiled as he patted her affectionately, using a handkerchief to wipe her face. Her eyes were empty. He then cleared his throat and leaned into her ear. "Please allow me to introduce myself."

***

Sam was in his room. He was stretched out on his bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling. Kevin had finally revealed everything and Sam was having a good, long think about what was going on. He glanced at his laptop, hoping that the angel would explain himself. Within him, Gadreel was afraid that Sam was on the verge of throwing him out. So, the angel took control.

He typed on the laptop. _I'm sorry._

"About goddamn time," Sam said with a huff when Gadreel gave him the reins for enough time to read.

_I have a chance to help the civil war. There is a third option: Having a small group of neutral angels rebuild heaven from the ground up._

"Okay, then what is it that you have to do?"

_I have the ability to destroy one of the most powerful weapons at heaven's disposal--one so powerful it can turn the tide of battle to favor either side in this war. But… it will not be easy._

And immediately, Sam thought of how close he was to closing the gates of Hell. He had been ready to make that sacrifice. He thought of how close they had come to saving the world, but choosing each other had caused them to fumble it and make a bigger problem. And this had happened multiple times. He cleared his throat. "It's your choice, Zeke."

_This is why I'm asking your counsel, Sam. I don't know what to do anymore. Angels are not used to making their own decisions. We are obedient to a fault, but when given the concept of free-will, how do we know whether a decision is a right one? I only want to do good. I only ever wanted to do good, but I feel like I constantly fail to do that. The choices I am given aren't obvious. I can play a substantial role in ending this civil war and repairing heaven. Perhaps I'd be rewarded for my efforts later, but the last time I thought I was doing good, I wrought the worst possible outcome for myself, my father, my brothers, and the entire world._

"What did you do?"

_I do not wish to divulge that information yet. I know that you have secrets in your head that you do not wish to relive. But what I think I must do is kill someone who is dangerous, but I do not wish to do that. Killing isn't my strength. However, it is logical to me._

Sam stared at the words that suddenly appeared. He understood the dilemma that Zeke was going through. After all, it wasn't like he had to do some dark art or spell or make a deal with a demon. Instead, Sam asked, "Does it feel right?"

_Feeling is something new to me. I don't know if it's right. Perhaps it can help everyone. Perhaps I'm being tricked again._

The hunter tensed his jaw. It was such a similar scenario. Finally, Sam said, "Are you really Ezekiel?"

And when Gadreel wrested control of Sam's body again, he wondered. He really wondered if they would accept if they really knew. He was about to formulate a sentence to type when a piercing pain sliced through his entire consciousness. He managed to keep himself together. Whatever was doing that did not belong.

He heard it, a thought: Voiceless and intense, but the ideas were clear as soon as Gadreel focused on trying to listen because try as he may, he could not shut it out.

He cradled Sam's head, trying to brace his skull from the pain. It sounded like the telepathic link that angels had with each other, but it also felt _wrong_ and totally against the laws of Heaven and nature. It was dark and oily and it burned and burned. Fingers were tight and tense against Sam's scalp, hair was clutched in fisted hands. He couldn't help but cry out, the pain drumming against his entire psyche. Then, as suddenly as it came on, it stopped, but there was still a ringing in his ears. And Gadreel was left wondering what that was, shuddering and gasping for air.

\---

Meanwhile, Dean was teaching Castiel about weapon maintenance. Then, the hunter went over gun safety, and set up some targets for him to shoot at. "Now, you ain't an angel anymore, so prepare yourself for the recoil. Before you shoot…" Dean put on some ear protection and motioned for Castiel to do the same.

Cas fired the weapon. He fired the shot once and missed, not ready for the kick the gun had. Despite being warned, he hadn't expected that. Dean was right, everything was different now. Before, angels sometimes fought like they were bludgeoning tools--not much could hurt them, so there was little need for finesse and form. The way Sam and Dean fought was full of dodges, reversals, and hard, well-aimed hits. That last part, Castiel was accustomed to. Angels were quite adept at finding targets.

Dean smirked.

Castiel grumbled. But now, he just needed to recalculate in order to hit the target. The math he did in his head came easily to him, just like he was playing with the idea of the nature of physics as easily as someone would play with the idea of deciding to add more salt or pepper to a soup. His eyes were still focused on the target.

After a few seconds of deliberation, Castiel fired the weapon. The bullet hole was in the direct center of the paper target in the firing range.

After a few more rounds and Cas showing that he was an excellent marksman, Dean asked him, "Why don't you use a gun again Cas?"

"I like my Angel Blade," he answered. "I know how to use it."

Dean shrugged, "Fair enough. But you only know how to use your blade as an angel. You need to learn how a human fights with a knife if you want to use it. You ain't a tank anymore, Cas." He pulled out his own knife, a blade that he drew and with a flourish twirled it expertly in his hands.

\---

Lively and Kevin got up as soon as they heard Sam cry out. They were in different parts of the bunker: Kevin in the library, and Lively getting her room ready. Kevin entered first and saw Sam look right through him, like he wasn't even there.

He heard the sound of hooves until Lively was in view, then it was nothing more than the quiet padding of her bare feet. "Something's wrong with Sam, he can't see me."

The fae merely smiled when recognition flickered in those hazel eyes. She ignored Kevin and he was about to be upset when finally, Sam spoke, stiffly.

"Lively," he said.

"Zeke," she said and then Kevin understood why Sam could not see him. They had decided that no angel could find him. Not even Ezekiel could find him.

And it seemed that Ezekiel had realized that a long time ago. "Where's Kevin?"

Without hesitation, she stated merely what was true: "He was in the library." She was under no obligation to answer the question he asked, apparently. Kevin thought that Lively was lying (which he thought she could not do) until he realized that she spoke of his location in the past-tense.

"How about Dean and Castiel?"

"The firing range," she answered. Kevin noted her masterful use of avoiding a verb then to not tip him off to the loophole she had used to avoid telling the truth he wanted to hear.

"So, it's just you and me in here?"

Carefully, Lively turned to the door and looked at Kevin. She gave him an expression that asked him if he was paying attention. "Do you see anybody here?" she asked saucily. She remained calm as she turned her attention towards the angel. "Why did you cry out?"

"I heard something."

"Heard something?" she repeated as a question.

"Angels have a means to communicate with each other in order to coordin--"

She nodded. "Cas said something about that. _Angel Radio._ So, Zeke, what did you hear?"

"Someone… not an angel."

She tilted her head. "Well, he must have said something."

"Uh, he introduced himself."

Kevin leaned forward, feeling lucky to have been able to listen in on this conversation and taking notes. The angel continued, still thinking that this was a moment shared in confidence with only the fairy, "I think it was a riddle. It had many references to religion and world history."

"Go on," Lively prompted.  
"He said he was a man of wealth and taste. That he lived for many a long year, and stole many a man's soul and faith…"

Before Gadreel could continue, Lively started to sing the song right where he left off, and Kevin was taken aback by how lovely her voice was. It was a sweet voice, and she had command over it like it was an instrument. And, there was something otherworldly to it:

 

"And I was 'round when Jesus Christ  
Had his moment of doubt and pain  
Made damn sure that Pilate  
Washed his hands and sealed his fate.

Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game."

 

Gadreel gasped and the look he gave--one of naive astonishment--didn't suit Sam's features. "So you know who can do this?" The angel asked. But Kevin knew, but he had no idea how the King of Hell managed this trick.

"Hon, that was 'Sympathy for the Devil.' Rolling Stones?" Lively said, with a chuckle. "I'm willing to bet that everyone knows it. Well, except for you apparently."

Gadreel lowered his eyes, shamefully. He had lived thousands of years in a small cage and had known only the prison. He was meek and never tried to escape, but entertained the thought of it with his friend, Abner. Lively cleared her throat, which caused him to tilt his head up to her.

"So back to business: Hon, I know your name isn't Zeke," Lively said. And the angel in Sam visibly flinched. "It's why you have been… _away_ lately. They're closing in on the truth. If they find it on their own, hon, it isn't gonna be as nice than if you had shared it with them. Sam's learning that lesson, too." She absently looked out of the door, towards Kevin, who held still.

He was still reeling from the realization that _Crowley_ had somehow hacked _Angel Radio_. And now, on top of that, the fact that Ezekiel wasn't Ezekiel had pretty much been confirmed.

Lively continued, "But I also know that you aren't a bad guy. You are trying to make things right. You kept Sam safe. You made up a way to figure out which angel had possessed the vessels by the way their Grace burned their insides when they died. For an angel, not-Zeke, you're pretty damn creative. I know you'll figure something out."

He frowned.

"Observant, remember?" she smiled, touching a finger to her head.

"Tell Sam that I'm… I'm sorry." And then, Gadreel let Sam have control again.

"Kevin? Lively?" Sam said. He was trying hard to orient himself in the situation.

Lively smiled.

"Did--" And his consciousness was snatched away again. Kevin saw hurt, betrayal on his friend's face, though the one emoting was the angel possessing him. It looked very similar to what Sam expressed earlier, when they discovered Kevin's blunder in releasing the King of Hell, but more intense because there was a seething rage underneath it all.

Then, he saw Sam's finger pointing towards him accusingly. He couldn't say that he was pointing directly at him as the angel could only see Kevin through Sam's eyes, and when the angel was in control, Kevin disappeared. "He was right! You guys don't trust me." Gadreel headed towards the threshold, where the prophet was standing. His hand reached forward, the intention to smite Kevin clear in his eyes, which were glowing blue-white with his grace.

"Kevin, MOVE!" Lively yelled, moving to try to intercept the angel.

Kevin dodged the hand by falling to the floor.

Lively tackled Sam. "You don't want to do this!" They were wrestling on the ground. Sam was fighting her, and overpowering her. Kevin could hear Lively was muffled, one of the hunter's large hands were clapped over her mouth. She bit him, and he could hear Sam's sharp intake of breath at the pain. Then, there was the sound of someone hitting the ground hard.

Kevin attempted to crawl away, but felt something sharp hit him in the side. Then again and again. He put his hand on the pain and when he pulled it away, it was bleeding. He looked up and saw that Lively was in a crumpled heap on the floor. And Sam had the knife, covered with blood in his hands. "Sam?"

He saw those eyes, duty-bound and eerily calm, full of purpose. And Sam stabbed Kevin in the heart.


	15. Code-Switching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness gracious. Last chapter… right? So yeah, Kevin died. Poor Kevin. So the third plot arc is coming to its climax and will be settling soon and making way for the fourth one (and I'm super duper excited for the next one). Sorry for the delay in getting this one up. My dog was very sick recently, she had a reaction to her flea stuff. She's on the mend now. This chapter has A LOT happening in it and was a joy to write.

***

Crowley had removed the pins from Muriel's cranium. She looked dopily ahead, as if she couldn't be bothered to turn her head. It was too much effort while she was still trying to connect to her vessel. _I'm sorry,_ she told the woman who had let her in. While she did sign up to be a vessel, she didn't sign up for that procedure that Crowley had done to this body, that caused the oily wrongness that seeped through her entire being. If she left the young woman now, she'd be completely out of her mind. Muriel ached for this woman. It was only the fact that she was an angel that kept her together.

In her line of sight, she saw Crowley flipping through a journal and then glancing at the time from a silver pocket watch. He moved out of her view and she heard him undoing the screws in the metal contraption that cradled her head in its iron embrace.

She kept thinking of when Crowley spoke the lyrics of a classic rock song in her ear and broadcast it over her mind. It felt so wrong when he did that. And she still felt the creep of his presence reverberating in her Grace. Muriel turned her head slowly, shakily, and could see the rubberized smock he wore to protect his clothing from the gore of his torture. She saw the tray with blood-tinged stakes sitting on a nearby table.

 _Remember, Muriel. What can you remember?_ She coached herself, forcing herself to wade through the mire of her mind, the broken, foggy thing that Crowley left her after using her to hack into the communication channels typically reserved for other angels. She knew that, whatever the case may be, he was not simply a demon borne from a seventeenth century tailor. But how could he have kept this secret safe from even the angels in Heaven who could see everything?

"You know," Crowley said as he lifted the crown from her head. She had marks on her temple and forehead from where it was clamped to her skin. "The bloody thing about getting into the heads of others is that they catch a glimpse of what's in mine. Like good old Nietzche said: _Stare into the abyss and the abyss gazes back at you._ Or something like that. Never did like him too much though. Too nihilistic for my tastes. Now Sartre had the right idea. He said, and I quote, _Hell is other people._ Never were truer words spoken and I've been to Hell."

"With some exceptions…" Muriel said. She was confused and she parted her lips to retrace the words she had just said. Somehow what she had meant to say had disappeared into what she had just said. She whimpered and hung her head, defeated, unable to make sense of her thoughts. "But only time will tell…"

"Well, I couldn't have you blabbing to the whole host of heaven about what I was up to." And it seemed that that was as much explanation as Crowley would give her.

 _Then why even keep me alive?_ Muriel wondered.

"Now, it just so happens that a certain Prophet has died. I wonder what you would do with that information." But Crowley knew beforehand that the one angel who would come to the prayer of a human being would not stand to let someone as important as a Prophet of the Lord stay dead. "If it makes you feel any better, I owe it to his mother to make sure he stays alive. And I'm one to _always_ keep his end of any bargain."

She watched him with a steady gaze, trying to judge whether or not he was a liar. However, he had been in her head, and she knew he was honest when he said the last.

***

_Lebanon, Kansas_

Cas and Dean had finished practicing hand-to-hand combat. Castiel's muscles were burning. Dean was hardly tired. They were walking down the hallway when Dean suddenly stopped, eyes wide, sniffing the air.

"Dean?" Cas asked.

"It smells like blood." There was also the scent like ozone that he knew meant that there was an angel near by. It tickled his nose, but filled him with trepidation because it was the same smell--full of suspense and danger, like the sky was holding its breath--that he smelled before a storm. "C'mon, let's go." Dean started running towards the source of the scent.

Castiel started jogging, but was nowhere near as fast and didn't have as keen a nose, so he had no clue where Dean went after he turned down one of the hallways. Dean ran, but skidded to a halt when he realized Cas was not with him.

It felt wrong to leave Cas, more wrong than it usually did. And when he took one more step forward, he felt a tug towards his friend, the need to be nearer to him. Not bothering to question it, he ran back and grabbed Cas's hand and dragged him down the hall. The former-angel stumbled as Dean sprinted effortlessly and efficiently. And then, just as abruptly as he started moving, Dean stopped at the sight of the door of Sam's room, opened wide.

Sam still had the knife in his blood-covered hands. His hazel eyes looked down to the body on the floor: Kevin's. He looked to his brother, his expression helpless. His voice was full of guilt. "Dean, Kevin's dead. It was me."

Lively was on the floor, an unconscious heap. Otherwise, Cas was sure he could get her to help the situation. He saw the purpling of a bruise on her face and also her delicate hooves poking out under her long skirt. When she wasn't awake, she couldn't put up her glamour.

He looked at Kevin's body. It was mangled up rather badly. Slashed in different places--the knife had been used blindly, wildly, and it made a mess of things. Blood pooled around the prophet.

Castiel felt Dean's hand tighten around his own so much that it almost hurt. He could feel the thrumming of his mind, rushing over thoughts that were confused between that of a man's and an animal's. And blood filled his head. The scent of it. The sight of it. Even the feel of it was like a sticky miasma in Dean's mind, touching everything.

"Dean," Cas said, hoping that he could interrupt Dean's thoughts.

The hunter's gaze was fixed on the carnage soaking into Sam's carpet. He didn't answer, but Cas could see the tenseness in his mouth that meant he was trying. Dean's strong hand was squeezing his tighter. He pulled his friend away and to his surprise, Dean yielded to his lead.

Breaking his visual of it seemed to put his sense back in his head. After another moment, Dean snapped back to reality and let go of Cas's hand. "We need to get _Zeke_ under control. We need to get him in the dungeon. Cas? Can you set up some angel-proofing sigils in there?"

"Y-yes." And Castiel hurried down the hall. The former-angel started to rub his hand in the way that Kevin had taught him and then, the sadness of the situation hit him like a truck: Kevin was dead. He had certainly felt saddened before, despondent, but now he was more human than he had ever been. And the emotions were richer. And he thought of when Lively suggested added creamer to his coffee: The richness of his emotions added to his experience, though he couldn't say it was better being like he was now.

\---

Sam followed his brother. It was the easier option to just let go and kick the angel in him out. It would take just a single thought to expel him: _Get out_. As angels needed permission to enter their vessels and Zeke was inside of him and letting him have the reins. The younger Winchester's reasons for keeping the angel inside of him were many: He knew that Zeke had the ability to resurrect him, that he could answer for what he had done, and, of course, that he was the only thing keeping him alive right now.

"You good, Sammy?" Dean asked as they walked down the hallway.

"How about you?" Sam asked without answering the question. He had seen how his brother was acting back there. The way Cas needed to bring him back.

"I'm good, Sam. What about you?" Dean pressed.

"Let's just get me in the dungeon, okay? Get answers." He kept his response terse. He wanted answers as well because what there was something not right about the events that led up to Gadreel killing Kevin. He had never felt such an intense anger from the angel before--a white-hot wrath.

"Got it," Dean said with a nod.

\---

Lively came to while the boys were gone. She put a hand to her head and tried to rub the sore spot from it. She winced when she touched her developing bruise a little too roughly. She could still taste Sam's blood in her mouth. Awful tasting, really. A little bit of sulfur on the bite, reminding her that there was a bit of demon in him, somewhere lurking just under the surface. And then she could taste the angel in him, bitter and sharp-tasting. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and saw that Kevin was dead. However, it seemed that he wasn't smited, which meant that he could be brought back--though not with the blood she took from Sam.

"Kevin…" she whispered. "I'm sorry you died like this." She slowly rose to her feet, hooves touching down on Sam's floor with a muffled sound. She patted her skirt down and fixed her necklaces so that they hung semi-neatly down her front, between her breasts.

She neatly stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her. She snapped her fingers and magicked a knife out of thin air using the little bit of blood she took from Sam. Not enough to resurrect the prophet--as much as she wished it was--but it was enough to arm herself and make herself useful.

***

Crowley opened the journal that he had in his possession. It piqued Muriel's interest. He looked at her and then resumed reading it. "Do you know what this is?" he asked her.

All she knew about it was that it was outside of its time and that its origin was rather soon. "The labors abandoned left unfinished?" She had a feeling that he was using it as a reference for what he should expect in the here and now. Her words weren't right. Something was wrong with what she was saying.

"Something like that," he said, distractedly. "But I've learned that timing is everything." He put his fingers in position to snap them, but was interrupted by Muriel.

"Who can doubt it," She blurted, but then her face fell, embarrassed. She mutely pointed at Crowley to ask if he was coming with her.

"No, Lucky, I can't make it with you, I'm afraid. Bunker's proofed against demons and I'm a demon through-and-through again." He smiled. "Though I'm flattered that you'd want me to accompany you."

"Dying. Flying. Sports of all sorts…" She knew that Crowley would keep her alive. She felt that intention loud and clear when he poked in her brain. If he sent her out into the big, wide world, she wasn't as sure about it. She had enemies: She chose a _demon_ over the angels, after all. But the King of Hell didn't give her more time to think because he snapped his fingers and she was someplace else entirely.

***

Muriel materialized in Sam's room. She saw the body of the Prophet. He was slashed open and she saw the wound in his chest where a knife was jammed through hs heart and there was blood all over the floor. She wondered what would happen if she abandoned her mission and left him to die, but she also saw him as an important playing piece in the Angel Civil War that was happening right now. And he was _God's_ chosen prophet. Perhaps it was time for her to believe in something. She wanted to believe in her father's plan, at least. And though the King of Hell wanted her to do it, she felt that the right thing to do was to bring him back from death.

There was no Heaven for the prophet right now anyways. He was a lost soul wandering in the Veil and that wouldn't do. He was human and she didn't have to wonder what her father loved about the humans. They were marvelous. She didn't forget how proud he was about making them. About how he put them on the Earth and tended to them like one would tend to the embers of a fire in the wilderness until they took off and created civilization and filled the world with their inventions. He had given her the job of learning about them and it was this importance she placed on them that made her unable to throw herself to either faction: Neither side had been interested in God's creation.

Muriel lowered her body to the floor and gently turned the Prophet so that he was face up. Slowly, she put her hands on him. She let her Grace into him, filling up his dead body, making it so that his soul could find its way back. She could feel the life returning to him underneath her her touch. She didn't feel it in her hands, but in her Grace. She sighed and when she did, she felt him sighing with her. And then, he disappeared from her view as soon as she felt his life return. Like he had just been erased from her sight.

"Hello, hon," Lively said, leaning on the door's frame, knife in hand.

Muriel gestured to the place on the floor where Kevin used to be.

"Can't you speak?" the fae asked, playing idly with her weapon.

"Time will tell," Muriel explained to the fairy standing in the doorway, though the angel saw Lively only as a woman.

"Ah, so you _can_ speak," Lively said. "By the way, I love your look. Very _Ranger Rick."_

\---

Dean paced, he was worried. Everything that was going wrong with his brother right now was his fault. He looked up at Sam, who was tied in the same seat that Crowley had once sat in before he escaped. Sam looked uncomfortable and Gadreel had yet to manifest. There was a circle of holy fire around the seat to keep the angel from escaping.

"Hey, douchebag, show yourself already!" Dean yelled. He huffed and resumed pacing when there was no answer. Dean was agitated and was having trouble coming back down.

Castiel watched carefully, not knowing how to comfort either brother in this situation.

"Can't you just peek in his head or something?" The hunter said harshly to Cas. Dean's nerves were shot. They were getting nowhere and he felt like he was needlessly yelling at his little brother.

"He's making it hard…" the former-angel said, squinting his eyes towards Sam.

"Well, just _try_ harder," Dean said with a growl.

"I am _'trying harder,'"_  Cas said, breaking out the air quotes. He focused and could only get the most surface thoughts. The most prevalent was a yearning for redemption and a deep-rooted shame that he didn't deserve it. It could be Sam's, but to be sure: "What are you thinking about now, Sam? How do you feel?" Cas had learned since having his Grace stolen from him that emotions were very important.

"And now Cas is playing a shrink. Do you want a couch so you can do talk therapy, too, Frasier?" Dean said, his patience was short.

"I don't understand that reference…"

Sam looked at them through the topmost tongues of the fire that surrounded him. He had been studying Cas's expressions. He saw the determination there, which meant that there might have been something more to Cas's question. "What did you see, Cas?"

"You want a second chance."

"Uh…" Sam didn't know what to say to that. He knew that Dean would always forgive him and support him. His big brother didn't give up on him. Not when he had visions. Not when he was addicted to demon blood. Not even when he lost his soul. There was security in that knowledge.

"Your mind… is full of that thought," Cas said. "If it's not yours, then it belongs to the angel."

Sam  _knew_ that the angel in him was probably a criminal. He wondered what this fugitive did. "Why would an angel feel something like that?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe _killing_ Kevin?" Dean offered. He didn't mean to be so dismissive, but he honestly didn't see where this would lead. He felt like he was in a rock and a hard place. All he knew how to do to get information was torture until the guilty spoke. He could not bring himself to torture Sam.

\---

Kevin came to while the angel and Lively spoke. He rose to his feet. He thought only of his friend trying to kill him and slashing the knife at him. The prophet didn't see him here. "Sam."

Lively nodded for him while talking with Muriel. The fae said, "There is a dungeon that we can keep an angel in." And the way she said it served both as a direction for Kevin to go there and a threat for Muriel to behave herself. "But me? I'm going to stay here and keep an eye on you until the boys get back. A lot of weird things happened here today and I think it's best if they got the information as soon as possible, and you know what went down, don't you?" She took a step forward, looking as if she was addressing Muriel.

The angel nodded and said, "Considering what is more that as a result of the labors left unfinished…" Her face screwed up.

"Well, then, go on," Lively said, gesturing with a tilt of her head towards the door to Kevin. To Muriel, it merely looked like she was asking her to continue, even though her words made no sense.

She attempted to continue, "That is to say, blast hell to heaven…" and Kevin realized that they wouldn't be getting any information from the strange angel, that Lively surely had everything under control, and that she was asking Kevin to relay what he knew to the Winchesters and Castiel.

He moved down the hall and made his way downstairs to the file room and then the storage. His heart was thumping because he had _just_ died. He made it to the door of the dungeon, which looked like it was one of the shelves. On the other side he could hear the low, gruff voices of both Dean and Castiel. He slowly opened it.

"Kevin?" Sam asked and it caused Dean and Cas to turn around to see their friend, definitely alive and well.

***

_Fayville, Pennsylvania_

Del sat outside of a suburban home. The mailbox said Nguyen. He knew that Linda's brother's name was Joe Nguyen. He was traveling around the country, going out and killing people with that last name. Last one he killed was Isaac. The one before that, Lanh. He sighed, puffing out his cheeks in the process. He would have preferred to have just found the woman on his own, but she proved to be quite the hard person to find. Somehow, her time with the Winchesters had taught her enough that she could, quite literally, fall off of the grid. Not only that, but she had knowledge of enough safeguards to prevent detection from supernatural means. Which left him to do it the old fashioned way: By sending a message.

He drummed the steering wheel, missing when his appearance was a bit more intimidating than a college drop-out without meat on his bones. He didn't remember much about his old life, but he remembered being tall and strong. And he remembered the joy of the hunt and killing. And now? He was a low-ranked demon who was being shit on by both the King of Hell and the bitch who was eyeing the throne. He knew that he needed to favor one of them to make it ahead. And he had decided to put all of his eggs in the _Last Knight of Hell_ basket because he couldn't see Crowley winning when his claim-to-fame was that he was a salesman that Lilith liked. "Well, I guess it's time to get the show started," Del said to himself with a sigh. He picked up the knife next to him and put it inside of his coat pocket. Then, he exited the car.

He walked up to the front door of the house and knocked.  A dark haired teen looked at him with the disdain common to someone of her age. Del smiled and said, "Where's your mom, sweetheart? I have something to ask her."

She turned around and called out, drawing out the word, "Moooooom. There's someone at the door."

Her mother came. A pretty brunette with green eyes.

"You're Nancy, right?" Del asked.

"Yes, uh, do I know you?"

"Nope," Del said and he drew his knife and killed her before she even had a moment to scream. He killed everyone in the house, but placed a note in Nancy's hand. The same one that he had placed in each one of his victim's hands before that. _Who is Crowley?_

***

Kevin had just finished explaining what had happened before he had died. Sam wasn't sure how he was feeling about all of it, but all he knew was that he had some criminal angel inside of him and he was doing the best he could to keep him there until they got more information.

"So, let me get this straight," Dean said, green eyes fixed on Kevin. "You heard Sam yelling. It turned out to be Crowley hacking _Angel Radio._ You know this because Lively put up her whammy and not-Zeke didn't know you were listening in. And then it turns out that all Crowley said over the air-waves was some Rolling Stones. And then Zeke got pissed and killed you--"

"Actually, I killed Kevin," Sam said. He averted his gaze.

"You didn't, Sam," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Stop blaming yourself."

"I did. I just… I didn't think it would be so…" _Easy_ . It was easy for Sam to take that knife and stick it into Kevin's chest. Zeke was aiming to _smite_ Kevin. Sam was sure that there was no coming back from being smote. And he thought quickly and his solution was to kill the Prophet because, if he was going to die anyways, it might as well be in a way that wasn't 100% permanent.

However, there was something very wrong about how the situation was handled. Zeke's sudden rage had flared like nothing he had felt from the angel before. He had only ever felt shame and guilt lingering after the angel manifested. And not only that, but Sam had not felt like he was conflicted about the actions that took place.

Everyone's expectant gaze was on Sam and he knew he needed to explain himself. He gathered his thoughts and then said, "I didn't feel the way I was supposed to feel. I just did it… detached to what I was doing. When I remember what happened, it's like how I remember my Soulless memories."

"So what, Zeke is doing something to your soul?"

"No…" Sam sighed. "I don't think so."

"So what about the new angel that just appeared in the room?" the older Winchester asked.

It made sense to Sam. They knew angels to just materialize, after all. "So, how did an angel just poof in here when this place is supposed to be proofed against stuff like that? Didn't we add the angel wards?" he said.

"Well, how did she find Kevin when he's supposed to be hidden."

"Lively was unconscious."

"Awesome, so there's the great flaw in that plan."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "Dean." His gruff voice cut the Winchester's conversation short. When he had everyone's attention, he reminded them, "No angel can fly. Their wings were burned away when they fell."

"So. How'd she get in here?" Dean asked. "Anyone?" The pause lingered a bit too long. "We don't how she got in here and we don't even know if she's even an angel. Or maybe she's the only bird who didn't get her wings clipped." He paused again and unsatisfied, stood up with a huff, "That's it, I'm asking her."

Sam knew that Dean would jump at any opportunity to not have to interrogate and torture him and the new angel served as a good distraction. He watched as Dean headed out.

However, his brother turned back around. "Hey, let's go Cas. Kevin, make sure the fire doesn't burn out."

Sam glanced at Kevin, the only one other than himself who remained in the dungeon. The circle of holy fire kept the angel at bay and Sam shuffled awkwardly in the chair. "Zeke? Can you see me?" Kevin asked gently.

The tall hunter shook his head. "He's not g--"

And Gadreel finally manifested. The holy fire kept him trapped, but he wouldn't have made any attempt to flee even without the flaming boundary. He had a worried expression on his face as his eyes glanced around, trying to find the prophet. "I can't. Kevin?" He fixed his stare in the area where Kevin had been standing. He was looking in the correct direction, but his gaze wasn't really on him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it. Something… something came over me that I couldn't explain. I wanted to think more about it." He disappeared again.

Sam continued talking right where he left off. "--oing to show his face."

Kevin looked so solemn and Sam could feel the lingering shame and sadness that Gadreel left in his body.

"Uh, Kev?" Sam started to say and then he realized what had happened. Ezekiel must have manifested. "He showed his face, didn't he?" He set his jaw, slightly annoyed.

"Yeah, he did."

\---

Dean and Cas made it back to Sam's room. Dean saw Lively, sitting on Sam's bed, a knife drawn. He raised his eyebrows, wondering where she had got it from because it was not one of theirs. He couldn't dwell too long on that thought because in the middle of the room was Muriel, dressed in a park ranger's uniform and holding still.

"Well, that's an angel, alright," Dean said, catching the scent of her Grace. Something like ozone, it smelled like a storm, but there was something different about it that he couldn't quite place. He just recognized it for what it was. "So, now the next question, how'd you get here?"

Castiel tilted his head in that avian manner of his. His eyes squinted as he studied the angel in the room. He could just barely perceive her mangled wings and looked on jealously because he no longer had his Grace and therefore, he didn't even have the shadow of the wings he once had. And he knew her aura, though it was ruined by the fall. "Muriel?"

She looked up, clearly recognizing him despite his lack of Grace. However, that wasn't an incredible feat as Cas had kept the same vessel for many years. Now, it was his mortal body.

"Like the other angels, she can't fly," Cas informed the group. He addressed her, inquiry in his cobalt eyes. "How did you get here?"

Muriel opened her mouth to speak. "Flying floating riding gliding…"

Lively shrugged. "She's been like this the whole time. Lucky here only speaks in nonsense."

"...Conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying…" the angel droned on.

"Why?" Dean asked.

Lively played with the knife in her hand and then Dean watched as she made it completely disappear into thin air. "Well, I assume it's because this is the angel that Crowley used to communicate with not-Zeke in the first place."

Muriel nodded vigorously.

"Apparently it breaks angels to hack them," Lively said.

Dean sighed as he summed up everything: "Friggin' angels. We have Bartholomew in one corner, guy we don't know in the other. The one in my brother killed the prophet and he won't talk, the one who brought the prophet back to life but she can't talk, and this one," and he placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder, "lost all his mojo batting for the wrong team."

\---

Gadreel was watching through Sam's eyes. He was letting the hunter talk with Kevin while he mused about how he had, once again, become a prisoner. He didn't understand why he lost control like that and decided to kill Kevin--which was something he still had his doubts about then. But it was said and done now. He knew what they were talking about. It was about that strange rage that had overtaken him. Uncharacteristic, but it was easy for him to place its origins: The betrayal from Lively's manipulating the truth. However, thinking back on it didn't fill him with the ire it had at the moment. Sam had, likewise, reported feeling strange in his behavior as well.

"Hey Zeke, I know you're listening in. Uh, Sam sort of explained a bit more how this thing between you guys works. I was thinking about what Lively said in the room. That's true, right?"

Sam knew Gadreel's answer. It felt like a clear certainty that could not be argued. A law of nature. It was true. "Yeah, it's true…" Sam said.

"Well, say it's a leap of faith. But I'm a Prophet, dammit. And I guess that's what I'm supposed to do. Leaps of faith." The young man took a sigh. And then his dark eyes looked determinedly at Gadreel. Somehow, that sharp gaze was meant for only him despite the fact that he had buried himself within Sam.

But the angel remained shyly in the back of Sam's mind, letting the hunter have command over his own body. Sam wondered when Kevin had learned to be so capable. He realized that, in this moment, the Prophet commanded the room. Sam and Gadreel watched him through the holy fire between them. Despite being the weakest one here, physically, he exuded power and dominance.

"I forgive you for _killing me_ ," Kevin said. He could have held a grudge, but it seemed that he wasn't going to. He still didn't look like he trusted the angel completely with the way his arms were folded and with the distance he kept. But the forgiveness felt sincere to Gadreel. It was a mercy that Gadreel had never known and had always wished for.

Gadreel thought of his time in his cell. He thought of how hard he was willing to work and all that he had done in his efforts to earn redemption. He felt selfish for wanting a second chance because it was giving his brother a second chance that had caused him to be branded as the angel who ruined humanity. He had given Lucifer the moment to prove he deserved forgiveness and was made the fool for it. And because of that experience, he was determined not to waste this gift that Kevin had given him.

Sam looked to Kevin, drawing his eyebrows together, causing those subtle worry lines to appear on his forehead. "Uh, Kev, are you sure?"

Gadreel-in-Sam clung onto those three words: _I forgive you…_ Didn't Metatron say that the Winchesters would throw him out as soon as they knew? It was obvious now that they knew that he was not who he said he was. They had to assume he was the worst of the possible angels in that prison. But really, wasn't he, given the gravity of his mistake? Yet, Kevin forgave him.

He took over and Sam's eyes flashed blue when he did and his posture changed. He couldn't see Kevin there, but he knew that he was in here and could hear him. If Kevin could make a leap of faith, then so could he: "My name is Gadreel."


	16. Neuroplasticity

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

"My name is Gadreel," the angel-in-Sam had stated.

Kevin's heart sank into his stomach when he heard that. He thought of the list of the worst angels he could think of and that name was on it.  _ Gadreel.  _ He was the angel who let the serpent into the garden. He was the one who made it so that humans could sin. The one who made it so that they couldn't enjoy paradise. He took a few deep breaths, but couldn't erase his worried expression.

He looked up and saw Sam's face. The confusion on it and his posture and his expression told Kevin that this was Sam. "Well?"

"He told me his name."

"And?" Sam prompted.

"Gadreel. His name is Gadreel," Kevin said. 

And Sam had recognized that name. It was the angel who allowed the Lucifer into the Garden and corrupted humanity. If it wasn't for that, none of this would have happened. There would be no pain, no suffering, no sin. There would have been Paradise. "Well, can you really forgive him for  _ everything?" _

And really, it was less about forgiveness for Kevin and more about getting the information they needed in order to fix the problem right now. As much as he hated to admit it, he had learned a lot from his interactions with Crowley. Apparently, you learn a lot about how to manipulate and control others after being made the fool so thoroughly. He didn't have to torture or do much to Gadreel. All he had to do was make the angel believe that there was a way out. Crowley's accented voice filled his mind as he mentally relived that moment when the demon revealed that he had been playing Kevin the entire time:  _ "Build a rapport." _

Kevin had only thrown that suggestion of forgiveness out there, making it sound as honest as he could. And to see Gadreel cling so desperately to it, he wondered if there was more to the story. The angel had had a look of sublime relief on Sam's face, as if an enormous weight had been taken off of his shoulders. This interrogation had come to a standstill. It would be near impossible to get all of the answers he was looking for tonight when the angel couldn't even perceive him without first handing Sam the reins. Not really.

Sam returned and his hazel eyes were expectantly on Kevin, "Well?"

"Yes," Kevin said. The prophet crossed his arms. If he made it seem like he was against Gadreel, he knew that they wouldn't get any information.

Sam shot Kevin a look that said,  _ "Are you really sure?" _

And, the prophet remembered something else that Crowley had told him.  _ "Distract with an easy-to-exploit weakness."  _ He took a deep breath. "Sam, you and Dean started the apocalypse. Cas went god-mode and killed half the host of heaven." And now it was time for Kevin to take control of the situation: "I think we should give Gadreel a chance."

Sam sighed.

"Besides, if I die again, we still have the angel in your room."

***

_ Elwood, Nebraska _

_ Who is Crowley? _ Linda had finished her shift a few hours ago and was on her bed, her eyes focused on the single sentence on the screen of the netbook. She knew that it had something to do with the Crowley who had, once upon a time, possessed her. She had been having dreams and had taken to self-medicating. She eyed the bottle of scotch on the nightstand and quietly wondered the nightmares that the Winchesters suffered that there was always some sort of hard liquor within their reach.

She reached for the drink and sipped a little more, feeling the buzz, and feeling the fear and panic wash from her until she was comfortably numb.  _ Alcoholism, really? And I thought I was smarter than that. _ The thought flashed through her for a second before she honed her focus back onto the computer screen and, using two fingers on the trackpad, scrolling down for the rest of the story on the message board. It seemed that this could be a real case. 

The names and places checked out. The news reports checked out. The police reports. Everything. Several people--all with the last name Nguyen--had been killed, it was Lanh, Isaac, and Nancy who were found with the note in their hands. Nguyen was her brother's last name. What if he was next?

\---

Linda pulled out a burner and dialed her brother's number. She only got his voicemail. It was a cutesy family one: "This is Jonathan. And Michelle. And Abby! And we're not here right now. Please leave your name and number after the beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeep." And then the sound of the actual tone came on. She frowned and then started to leave her message.

"Jon. It's Linda. I know it's been awhile, but I just wanted--"

The phone picked up. "Linda?"

"You're okay," Linda said, breathless in her relief.

"Wh--"

Linda cut him off, not giving him a chance to answer. "It's complicated."  _ And that's an understatement. _

"Linda? What's going on? We haven't heard from you in  _ years." _

"I was making sure you were okay. Jon, call me if anything happens." She hung up the phone. She needed clues as to who was doing this because she knew it had nothing to do with what Crowley wanted. She needed clues; she needed to go to Fayville.

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

Dean and Cas were at a loss about what they should do about the angel in Sam's room. Lively played idly with her hair as she watched them discuss the options that they had. He raised his eyebrows at the bruise on her face, but didn't comment. There were more pressing matters to attend to--such as the fact that there was an angel he didn't know here. She saw the tenseness in Dean's shoulders. She knew what was wrong: He didn't want yet another thing to throw on the heap of  _ things that we have to worry about, _ but there was also an eagerness to find out what the angel did know. 

She saw Castiel, torn between trusting Muriel and not giving her his trust. Made sense, as it seemed from the honest story that Cas had told her, he was used to betrayal, especially from other angels. And, despite that, he was still the type who wanted to believe he could trust others.

And there was the angel herself, hopeless and broken, knowing that she had no say as to her fate because she had no way to do so with her inability to speak plainly while Dean was talking about possibly torturing her for information. 

"Guys," Lively called. They ignored her, continuing to discuss the options that they had. She stomped a hoof to create a few muffled knocks against the floor. It was loud enough to get everyone's attention. "Now that I have the class's attention, I'd like to point out that this fine young angel did resurrect Kevin. And, I don't know about how things are run around here, but in my world, it's tit for tat: We owe this angel here a favor."

"She has a point," Cas said before Dean could put up a retort.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dean huffed. He turned his head slightly, catching a sound and then sniffed the air. Just like that, he had erased the unease that had been present. "Kev's coming," Dean announced.

Of course, Kevin appeared in the doorway. The prophet had a bright grin on his face. It wasn't enough to perk up his tired expression, however. "So, I got not-Zeke's real name."

"Really?" Lively asked. It seemed that the young man was more capable than the fae originally thought. He had manage to glean information from an entity that couldn't even perceive him except through the eyes of another man. 

"It's Gadreel," Kevin said.

Cas set his jaw and pushed past Kevin urgently, running down the hallway. Dean watched for a moment before he huffed and followed after the former angel, pulled along by a force of attraction stronger than himself. Lively looked to Kevin and shrugged. "I guess I'm watching the angel then, huh?" 

Kevin smiled sheepishly. "Er, can you?"

Lively nodded and gestured for Kevin to run along. He did. Then, she looked at the angel in the room with her. "You probably have no clue what just happened."

Muriel slowly shook her head. Her eyes were expressive, asking without words if Lively could explain.

But the fae only grinned. "Look, hon. I'm trying to make sure you get the good end of the stick here. These boys are a paranoid bunch. I don't think they'd really like it if I spilled the beans before you got the okay."

Muriel nodded in mute understanding.

The angel trusted her, which Lively thought was interesting. She did pick her appearance. A face that could affect a soft expression, a demure one. She could look innocent and sweet and honest. It made seem trustworthy, perhaps. Muriel's countenance had the same effect, all wide-eyed and lost-looking.

\---

Cas stormed into the room. Sam looked up, still sitting in the chair. The holy fire was extinguished, but he still had the cuffs around his wrist and the wards were still up. The younger Winchester looked at the angel, who was seething with a quiet anger that threatened to burn him up.

"Uh, Cas?" Sam asked. "Something wrong?"

"Gadreel," Cas said. His gruff voice held a note of disgust. 

And Sam's eyes flashed blue and then slumped, crumpled in the chair with his chin on his chest. Sam's long hair hid the expression that Gadreel was wearing. Cas tilted his head, unsure of whether or not something bad would happen. This was, after all, one of the angels who had been imprisoned for eons. Cas felt for his angel blade, placing his thumb covertly to ease it out of the makeshift sheath he had under his clothes. No longer an angel and no longer able to wear a trenchcoat no matter the weather, he had had to improvise. He tried to read the angel's thoughts, but it was foggy, difficult. 

He tried to force it and kept searching, searching for that shred of ill-intent, when Dean entered the room, his animal mind a beacon that snatched Cas's attention away for a moment. It was an interruption that made him stop and think. After a staredown for a few more moments, Cas stated, "We have an angel in our possession who can finish Sam's healing."

Dean perked up, realizing that Cas had discovered their out. Muriel seemed a lot more benign than Gadreel, who had, up to this point, been a liar.

"I want to heal Sam. It is almost finished," Gadreel stated, slowly lifting his weary eyes. He looked honest, but, given his history, Castiel wasn't certain he could believe in that honesty. And Gadreel withdrew back into Sam, who saw Cas and Dean in front of him. He saw his brother run up to him, but immediately hang back, a little embarrassed that he got that happy to see his little brother again.

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Sam, we have another angel that could heal you. Without possessing you. So you can kick Gadreel out and--"

"Dean…" Sam started to explain, but stopped short, his attention on the entrance.

The hunter turned and saw Kevin standing there. "We are not going to kick him out unless he wants to leave."

Castiel felt the heat of his anger flaring inside of him, but Dean voiced enough concern for the both of them: "What the  _ hell _ do you mean? This is  _ my  _ brother."

"Sam agrees with me."

Sam looked uncomfortable with the idea at best.

"We finally got an out and you--" and Dean's words dissolved. He breathed heavily and grunted, frustrated with himself because he wanted to be a lot more angry and exchange a lot more choice words, but right now all he could do was keep himself together. He took a deep breath and collected himself. Cas could feel the pieces of his mind coming back together, bringing coherence to his thoughts. Finally, he had words again. And in a growl of a voice and with narrowed eyes, Dean said, "You have some damn explaining to do."

***

_ Sioux Falls, South Dakota _

Crowley sighed as he waited at a table near the window at the diner. The waitress came by with his coffee. He picked it up immediately.

"Careful, it's hot," she warned cheerily. But he sipped at it a moment too soon. Her eyebrows raised when he didn't even flinch.

"It's perfect," he said. His rich, accented voice took her by surprise. She smiled. He checked the time on his pocketwatch for a second before putting the timepiece away.

"Waiting on someone?" the waitress asked.

"Yes, in fact. An old acquaintance of mine. Jody Mills? We had a date once,  _ years  _ ago. Hoping to rekindle the fire. I left a bad impression, buggered up the whole evening."

"Oh, I hope it goes better this time around."

"Thank you. I'm a bit nervous about how it'll all work out," Crowley smiled and glanced out of the window, watching the Sheriff's car finding a parking spot. "She's here, how about another coffee?"

"Sure thing," the waitress said. "And, good luck on your date." She turned and left the table to get the second coffee.

Crowley watched the sheriff exit her vehicle. He studied the way she walked. She was tough. Being exposed to the hunter life had made her tough. It had also made her perceptive and paranoid, like most hunters. He saw her head swivel, taking in her surroundings before her eyes locked onto his. He presented himself with a flourish and mouthed the words  _ ta-da _ and watched as the next moment, she rushed into the diner. She pushed her way past the hostess and bumped into the waitress who was carrying her coffee. The waitress had managed to save most of the coffee, but had slowed down Jody.

Jody's eyes were fierce on Crowley as she moved past the waitress, heading towards the demon. He simply smiled and held up three fingers. Then two. Then one. And then he snapped his fingers and was gone. Just like that.

"Son of a  _ biscuit!" _

***

Kevin quietly explained that perhaps Gadreel deserved a second chance.

"So, poof? Like that? All is forgiven?" Dean said, agitated. He had started pacing again. 

"Dean, calm down," Sam said. It did nothing for his brother.

Meanwhile, Castiel was seething in quiet anger. Gadreel was the angel who ruined it for humans in paradise. Gadreel made it so that humans could sin. Sure, they weren't perfect before, but at least they weren't doing terrible things to each other. He poked around in Dean's head and saw that the hunter's mind was reeling just as his was. It was a storm of emotions: Shame for putting Sam into this situation and guilt for allowing the events that led to Kevin's death and anger over the fact that they could forgive Gadreel so easily for his lies and deceit. "Dean." Cas put a hand on Dean's arm, catching him in the middle of his pacing. The hunter calmed when the behavior was interrupted.

He shrugged off Cas's hand, afraid that Kevin and Sam were watching. Cas felt the focused thought:  _ Cas, don't. Not here.  _ The former-angel pulled his hand away, as inconspicuously as he could.

Dean glared at Sam. "I swear that if this ends up being another Ruby."

"It was  _ my _ decision, Dean," Kevin said, interrupting Dean's misplaced suspicion.

"You were  _ dead _ a few hours ago," Dean countered. He looked to Sam and smiled saucily while gesturing towards Kevin. "He was  _ dead  _ a few hours ago. Maybe his brain isn't back online yet."

"Hey!" the prophet interjected.

"I don't believe trusting an angel who spent most of human history imprisoned is a good idea," Castiel said.

"And that's just it: He was imprisoned this whole time. He  _ never _ got his chance," Kevin said. He wasn't going to take back the forgiveness he offered, especially after he saw how much Gadreel wanted it. "Leap of faith. Take it."

"Faith," Dean spat, bitter about that word. 

But that word resonated with Cas. His cobalt gaze hardened before he sighed deeply. He was an Angel of the Lord before he was anything else. It still hung around him, it was still part of what made him who he was. "I believe it is up to Sam." He turned around and left the room. He couldn't stand in there for another second longer.

Dean stood, his gaze lingering at the doorway, feeling a whine build in his throat, but he worked hard to stifle it. He turned to his brother.

"Dean--"

"I swear Sammy! If you throw this chance away…" The threat was left unfinished. He turned away. He couldn't keep looking at his brother's eyes. He couldn't threaten someone. Not when he was like  _ this. _ He was so frustrated with himself. And he kept his eyes actively averted, struggling to keep an animal growl locked in his throat before it escaped.

"Dean," Sam repeated. And he remembered what his brother said earlier.  _ This is me, Sam.  _ There was no switch he turned on and off. There was just who he was now, what he had to live with. Patiently, Sam waited. No judgment, as hard as it was for the younger brother. Finally, Dean sighed, swallowed a wad of saliva that made his Adam's apple move up and down, and raised his eyes, finally meeting his brother's gaze.

There was a whole conversation in Sam's hazel eyes. A quiet agreement about what they were going to do. This was the language that even Gadreel-in-Sam couldn't understand--one that came from the strange co-dependent, complex relationship that grew from being brothers, one raising the other; soldiers, sharing the same hellhole on a battlefield bigger than anything else; partners investigating cases, needing to know the other's intentions or else they'd be worse than dead; and even enemies, pitted against each other from powers higher than they ever could be. And they survived all of that.

Dean relented. "Okay." He looked to Kevin. "Uncuff him." And then he left the room.

Kevin nodded, knowing that this was difficult for all the parties involved. And they were ultimately doing this because he asked them to. He undid the cuffs and watched as Sam's strong hands rubbed his wrists.

"I need… something," Sam said. He mimed writing in the air. 

Kevin rummaged through a toolbox quickly and found a small memo pad. "Here." He plopped it on the table. He produced a pen from his pocket and used his thumb to click the point out.

To the empty air, Sam said, "Okay, Gadreel. You know that I'm not happy with this, that if I can choose, I would kick you out. But I'm giving you one chance: Explain yourself." Sam looked down at the paper, leaned forward, tense and waiting for that moment when the words would suddenly appear in front of him.

Kevin stood watching. And Gadreel manifested. Sam's posture straightened like a jolt of electricity flowed up his spine. He looked at the memo pad, and then his hand reached for the pen. Gadreel started writing. Kevin crossed his arms.  The room was so quiet that the only sound was the tip of the pen scribbling at the paper.

\---

Castiel was leafing through some of the files right outside of the dungeon. He didn't even glance up when he heard Dean approaching.

"So," Dean said, leaning casually against the file cabinets. His green eyes were looking over Castiel gently. He didn't need to say anything; the former-angel could read his thoughts. He scooted closer to Dean without a word and the two of them stood, side by side, barely touching. 

"I doubted. I doubted and fell from heaven after years of being a soldier for a battle I didn't even understand. I didn't even question the orders from above. Every time I put my faith and trust in… anybody, I've been betrayed." He sighed. "Why do I keep trying to have faith? Why does the idea of having faith still seem so attractive to me? I'm not an angel anymore."

"That's actually human." Dean took a deep breath. Doing so brought him a whiff of something interesting: An old scent of Kevin's from the files. He sniffed the air, trying to get a read on it, but having spent most of the day stifling instincts left it difficult to focus his senses.

"Lively said I'm not human," Castiel said.

"At this point, Cas, I have to wonder if me and Sam count anymore."

***

Jody had looked up Crowley's name and, of course, the string of murders that Del had committed came up. 

A few years ago, Crowley had set up a date with her. She was still wounded from that night. He took advantage of her just to get at the Winchesters. And that made his appearance in  _ her  _ town as well as the murders committed in his name a problem she felt a drive to solve.

She drove out of Sioux Falls, hitting the highway East towards Fayville, Pennsylvania. The open fields gave way to thickly-grown trees and winding paths as she cut through the Appalachian Mountains. She turned on the headlights of her police car as the sky darkened. It was a long trip, but she wanted to knock it out in one trip. 

This was what the Winchesters were up to for the majority of their lives, she thought to herself. Miles of road between each case. If you added it all together, the largest fraction of their lives were probably spent in that Impala. 

She thought of a few of the hunters she had met and even the one she just about trained herself. She turned down another road, wanting to get to Pennsylvania as fast as she could.

***

Sam flipped through the memo pad, reading the neat handwriting. The way that Gadreel wrote was so neat and uniform that it appeared to be a type-face, complete with small serifs, rather than wrought from Sam's own hand. There was a lot to what Gadreel had written, and Sam couldn't help but believe him. With the angel in him, he felt that lingering sense of doubt and shame. The words they had exchanged, ever since the first time Gadreel made contact with him on the laptop all the way in Caribou, he had been seeking redemption. And, given his transgression, was it any surprise he would want to hide who he was?

The tall hunter glanced over at Kevin. "Well?" the prophet asked.

"I believe him." And Sam felt hope flow through his body. Gadreel liked that.

"So, what does it say?"

Sam looked down at the memo pad. "That's his story. It's up to him to share it." 

And Sam scrawled on the memo pad in his chicken-scratch, not wanting to speak aloud,  _ Do you know anything about the angels? _

One blink, and Sam saw a sentence that filled him with dread:  _ I'm going to be honest about everything Sam. Metatron has been contacting me. _

\---

Dean was outside with Cas, panting from playing fetch and from being overheated. Early autumn, but it was still sweltering. The afternoon brought the heavy buzz of insects with it. The river beside the Bunker, flowed lazily in front of the pair. They stood at the river, eyes overlooking the water, contemplative now that they had gotten Dean's needs met.

"I hate this," Dean said.

"You looked like you were thoroughly enjoying yourself."

"Yeah, but I hate that I enjoyed myself. So, what, I'm supposed to chase a ball when I feel tense? Why can't I do what a normal person does to unwind? Like go fishing." He stopped and looked at Castiel. "Have you ever gone fishing, Cas?"

A gust blew. Before Cas could answer, Dean's nose caught the scent of his brother. 

"Sam, right?"

Dean nodded, silenced momentarily.

Cas put a hand on the waist of his jeans to keep them from falling down. Dean looked at the subtle point of his hip bone, peeking above the lopsided waistband. In profile, Cas looked like a rail and it worried the hunter. "We need to get you a pair that fits."

"I'm fine, Dean," Cas said.

"People have to stop saying that to me," Dean replied, grumpily.

"Only if you stop telling everyone the same thing," Sam said, stepping in, and putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. To his surprise, his brother leaned into the touch. He always thought that it was just Cas who had this strange, magic power over him. Sam was tempted to try to pet his brother in the way he would a dog, just to see what would happen.

"He prefers his head scratched, especially behind the ears," Castiel offered.

Dean said, "Shut up, Cas. So, Sammy. What's next?"

"I'm keeping Gadreel here," he pointed to himself. "Turns out Metatron has been contacting him. That's where he was when he drove off that one day. What if next time he comes calling, he gets me? We can bring him back with us, then."

"I don't like it," Dean said. "You're telling me you are going to trust an  _ angel  _ who lied about his name, lied about being in angel jail, and now lied about being in contact with pretty much one of the worst douchebag  _ ever."  _ He crossed his arms. Cas mirrored his body language. He didn't like it either. "So, Meta-douche is the second faction?" 

"No," Sam wore the most unamused expression as he revealed: "He's the third."

"Awesome."

Castiel stood too closely to the two brothers, a tad jealous that Sam could so easily steal Dean's attention, and he asked directly. "Sam. Can we trust Gadreel?" He looked at Sam with intense eyes.

"Yes," Sam said. "Hey, I'm going back to the Bunker." He turned around and headed back to the building. Once Sam was gone, they both exchanged a glance.

Still tense, Dean asked Cas, "Well?"

"Not a shred of doubt in his appraisal of Gadreel's character."

"That doesn't mean anything. For all we know, Gadreel can be playing Sammy for a fool. The way that Ruby did. The way that everyone does. Because Sam…"

"I suspect Sam has a better sense than I do in these matters, Dean."

"Thanks, Cas." Actual gratitude. Cas wondered what he said to have earned that.

A moment of awkward silence hung over them. Dean whined a little. The sound escaped him and once he caught himself, he cleared his throat to try to hide it. "Ahem, Cas. Actually…"

_ "'Shut up, Cas.'  _ Remember?" The former angel said, peeking into Dean's mind to know what he wanted.

"Shut up, Cas," Dean said again, though playfully this time.

Cas smiled and then raised his hand and started to scratch Dean on his head, focusing on the area behind his right ear.

\---

Team Winchester was starting to get a little more crowded than the boys were used to. They often missed those long, lonely road trips together in the Impala. Two brothers, the family business and, once upon a time, that was all they needed to get by. Now the stakes were much higher.

Sam and Dean sat across from each other at the long table. Between them was a pile of papers and notes. Castiel sat near Dean, Lively sat next to him while Muriel was across the table next to Kevin, whom she could not even see.

"So, we're going to fix heaven," Sam said. "Figure out what Metatron had planned for Gadreel."

"See if I can get my Grace back," Castiel interjected.

Sam nodded and then continued, "--Find and capture Crowley again. Fix Dean."

"Find my mom," Kevin muttered under his breath.

Lively raised her eyebrows. "And we're doing all of that." She said flatly. "And it's just this little ragtag team?"

Dean tilted his head, remembering when he summated just how ill-equipped they were to handle the Apocalypse: " _ One ex-blood junkie, one drop-out with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there."  _ And he named their little trio  _ Team Free Will. _

So, who was on their roster now? The original Team Free Will, but left even more broken and pathetic. Plus a few more additions and they didn't look like they were doing too well either.

"Yep, looks like it," Dean said. He looked at his brother, who literally was harboring an angel fugitive (and still an ex-blood junkie). At Lively, who looked like a domestic abuse case with the bruises on her face that he knew only he could see. At Muriel, the broken angel who couldn't even speak a lick of sense. At Kevin, the haggard prophet who somehow had recently joined the Winchester club of  _ "has died."  _ And his eyes lingered on Cas, who lost everything, who he had rejected and somehow he still trusted him through it all.

"So what are we gonna call ourselves this time?" Sam asked. Apparently, he was remembering the Apocalypse, too.

"How about ' _ in over our heads?'"  _ Lively suggested with a smile. "But I'm game if you boys are. Besides, we got lucky here tonight." She winked towards Muriel. "And, know what? I love me a good underdog story."


	17. Nonverbal Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. Well, it's still Monday :) Here's Ch 17. It went through a LOT of edits, but I am super happy with how it came out. Enjoy!!!

***

_ Fayville, Pennsylvania _

Linda checked the salt lines and the Devil's Traps. She had the news articles, quite scant given the severity of the crimes, and her own theories. She put the deaths so far on a map of the United States. They were actually quite spread out.

Linda peeked through the blinds and saw the sheriff's car return. It always set her on edge because she was almost paranoid that the police officer was onto her. Between the shoplifting, car theft, and grave desecration, she knew she had more than enough to wind up in jail. She knew the Sheriff was from Sioux Falls, which confused her even more. However, Linda felt that she just had to be careful and tread lightly. She could get through the meat of the case in the meantime and then leave before she raised any suspicion.

Slowly, she backed away from the window and started to get dressed. She changed into the pretty outfit she picked out from the thrift store two states over. The blouse and jacket ensemble did well to hide the wiry, scarred body she now possessed due to her captivity. She put on some slacks that flattered her shape quite well.

And then, the door started knocking.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, but quickly composed herself. She stayed quiet and cautious, picking up the knife from the table as she made her way to the front door. "Ma'am?" she heard the voice say on the other side. And she recognized it as belonging to the female sheriff. It would be easier to just pretend she wasn't in here, as there was no probable cause that would lead to a break-in of any kind. And she could pretend she was in the shower and didn't hear the knocking.

And then Linda's phone rang.

_ Jonathan…  _ She couldn't leave it ringing like that because what if he was in trouble? She walked over to it and picked it up. "You better be in trouble," Linda said in a whisper.

"Hey, is everything okay? What's going on?"

"I'm under cover right now." Easy enough explanation and not entirely false.

"Wait, what? Under cover?" And then a pause as he seemed to digest what she had just told him, "Like right now, right now?"

"Jon, I'll call you back later." She hung up.

The sheriff said on the other side, "Hey! I just found something out here and I just want to know if it's yours."

It would be more suspicious if she refused, wouldn't it? The last thing she needed was more scrutiny.

Linda eased the door open and kept the security chain on.

The sheriff had short hair and she looked down, seeing the salt line on the floor across the threshold of the door. She lifted her eyes again and revealed the press pass that Linda had made. She could have sworn she had it when she was returning from interviewing the first responders. She undid the security chain.

"Sorry about the salt, it's--"

"A religious thing? Met a coupla guys who did the same thing before. Nice folks," she said with a smile and a knowing twinkle in her eye. She glanced around and probably saw the weapons on the table, but made no indication that she did. "So, what's the big story on?"

"Oh, you know, a local thing."

"If you need help for anything, you know you can ask me. I'm Sheriff Mills."

"Charleston. Linda Charleston." It wasn't her real name. She felt safe sharing it.

Jody smiled and handed the press pass back. Linda took it and then shut the door. The lanyard had been cut and she tied it together in a square knot and put it back over her head. It hung on her chest. To calm herself before she headed out, she leaned against the wall in the motel room. She stared at the peeling wallpaper and the dirty ceiling and then looked back down at the carpets and the salt lines on the floor.  _ Safe, I'm safe.  _ But she couldn't convince herself of that.

***

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

Communicating with Muriel was harder than the boys thought it would be: In addition to being unable to talk with them, she was unable to write. All that would come out was the loopy scribbles and random scratch. And she seemed just as bewildered and devastated as they were by it. Right now, she was curled in on herself, moping.

The Winchesters had Kevin sit with Muriel for a few hours in the library for any clue that she might be lying about being unable to communicate. It broke the prophet's heart to watch her, hoping beyond a hope that she could find an easy way to share what it was she knew. He watched as she tried to speak, but all that would come out were the words that she had been saying since she appeared: Nonsense speech. Phrases repeated, samples from a script that she could not deviate from.

She pulled out more pieces of paper, but found that all that she could put on it was more of the scribbles--it was like someone who understood the idea and purpose of writing, but none of the actual letters. They were spaced out as if they were meant to be words, but without rhyme or reason. Kevin collected a few sheets of paper, hoping that perhaps they could decode them later, but the frustrated way she would work at the paper told him that that was very unlikely.

She went through books and her sad eyes told him what he feared: That she was actually illiterate. It wasn't like it was with her voice--where she could understand the words, but not reply in any way that could make sense. She could not understand the written word and it seemed that no language was exempt.

\---

Everyone else was at the table again, where they had been researching, eating hastily-made meals, and drinking beer. Right now, they were all working on the first option. Sam looked around the room to see what everyone was doing. Dean was flipping through websites, bouncing an impatient leg. Castiel sat next to him. A slight whine left Dean's throat, and it seemed he wasn't even realizing it. Sam shifted and felt the weight of the Inuit spell book in his inside-jacket pocket.

He had questions he wanted answered. There were incongruencies between what Kevin had discovered and what Lively had told him. However, whether it was a god or a fairy that authored the spell, it was still a contract and understanding the contract was a huge part of understanding how to help his brother.

He glanced up and saw Dean sipping at a bottle of beer. Everytime he brought it to his lips, Sam could tell how much he yearned for something to chew upon. Dean would nibble on the glass before he'd set it down again, obviously not finding it an adequate surface for his vice. And that incessant whine was continuing. It was grating on Sam's nerves.

"Dean," Sam said. "I'm heading out."

And his brother stopped what he was doing and looked up at his brother, green eyes expressing something both simple and deep:  _ Don't leave. _

"Beer run," Sam explained.

"We  _ have  _ beer," Dean said and waggled the beer in his hand. The liquid sloshed inside. He set the bottle back down.

Sam frowned.

"He's scared of you leaving again," Lively said, teasingly.

"I am  _ not."  _ Dean said, crossly. But he was. He remembered last time Sam left and he did not want a repeat. And now, since they hadn't had a good case, he was feeling his instincts, unable to quell them long enough to  _ stop  _ chewing on things. He was not going to show where he had started gnawing on his bed frame and had hung a jacket on that post. It was driving him bonkers. He wondered what would happen this time.

"You are," Castiel said.

"Fine, I am!" Dean finally admitted. And anxiety was rising. "But c'mon! I don't even know if I'll be  _ okay."  _ Everyone knew what he meant. Last time Sam left was such a disaster. He sighed and averted his eyes.

Sam walked over to his brother, remembering every little thing his brother had told him about how this was affecting him. Apparently, being a dog was a part of who his brother was for now. He thought of Bones, his dog in Flagstaff. What would Bones like him to do in this situation? He reached out and let his fingertips slide through Dean's hair before he found that spot behind his brother's ear. Dean leaned into his hand and smiled as Sam gave him scritches. "Look, be good. I'll come back."   _ I'm going to fix this Dean. I'm going to fix you. _

Dean ducked away from Sam's hand. He was conflicted about it. He kept quiet, but looked a little more relaxed. "Okay."

Sam nodded and looked to Lively. "I'm also going to get some cream for you, too. Wanna come?"

"I don't--" Lively began, but read Sam's expression and aborted her sentence. "I mean, I suppose I can come with you, hon. Want to make sure you pick up the good stuff and all. None of that fake crap." She hopped to her feet and the both of them left the room.

Several minutes passed. Cas could tell Dean was struggling with keeping his attention on the screen.

"You okay?" the former-angel asked.

Dean whined, but replied. "Still me." He paused, letting his brain work out what had just happened.  _ Beer run?  _ He didn't get to figure out where Sam was really going.

"It's Sam that left, Dean," Castiel reassured him. "Not Gadreel."

"I know it's not Gadreel," Dean said, grumpily. "But what if he goes all Mr. Hyde and never comes back."

"Lively's with him."

Dean grunted in displeasure because creature he hardly understood was keeping watch of his brother. "You're supposed to be making me feel better, Cas."

"Am I not?" the former-angel tilted his head and squinted his eyes slightly in confusion.

It was classic Cas. And so, Dean only snorted and smiled.  _ Yeah, I guess you are. _

\---

Sam squeezed into the passenger's seat of Lively's Volvo. "Do we really have to take  _ your  _ car?" His knees were in his chest and he was completely uncomfortable.

She rolled her gray eyes as she started the engine and went out to the road. "No, but I think it's funny and Lordy knows a need a little funny in my life. At your expense."

"Why is it okay to laugh at my expense?" Sam asked, exasperated.

Lively raised her eyebrows, as if she was surprised he would even ask that.

"What?"

"You hit me in the face."

"I did n--" He paused. "And you can't lie." Then, Sam remembered the hard hit he threw at her face. It wasn't even Gadreel who did that, but himself. "I did," he almost whispered in realization.

"Hon, it's okay, it was a messy situation. It's over. But, I do think I deserve to have some fun at your expense. Anyways, why did you need me here, with you?"

Sam produced the Inuit spell book from his pocket. "I got the spell book and I wanted you to look over it and--"

"Ah," she said. "Okay, I'll give it a quick look-see once we get to the grocery store."

***

Linda had finished interviewing the neighbors who would talk with her. No cold spots. No strange smells. She had gone through the usual questioning that a hunter would go through. They didn't have much information. One of them mentioned seeing a man walk up to their door. It was someone that he didn't know, but he didn't get a good look at his face, and so the lead ended there.

When night fell, Linda went to the Nguyen house, where the murder had taken place. She could look for clues. She was wearing more practical clothes: Jeans, a t-shirt, a military jacket with deep pockets. She saw now why the boys wore what they wore. Yoga pants wasn't going to cut it. She pushed through the police tape and turned on her flashlight. She held it over her pistol and began her search. The bodies at the crime scene had been cleaned up. She had already hacked the police database for information about what they had collected here.

What she was interested in was what they missed.

She knew that there would be that tell-tale yellow dust: Sulfur. And she caught a faint whiff of the scent of rotten eggs when she went to where the body of Nancy had been found. It made sense, the demon would have spent the most time here, placing the note in her hand and positioning her body to match the other murders. She couldn't find the familiar yellowish dust until she moved the nearby end table. There it was, in a line from being against the wood. She bent down and swiped a finger through it and sniffed it to confirm that, yes, there had been a demon here. She scoffed.

And then, she thought back to that time when Crowley was in her, wearing her body like an ill-fitting suit. She remembered him doing the same action of running his finger through the sulfur left behind from another demon. And he scoffed, just as she did. She wiped her hand against her slacks and stood up.  _ Was that me? Or was that him?  _ And she thought of the note that each of the victims had had in their hands:  _ Who is Crowley? _

And who was he, really? She tried to recall how it was with him in her head, but could only think of the constricting smoke, filling her up. She remembered just being confused when he had finished with her. She initially recovered rather quickly. Got her strength back, but thinking of him in her was like thinking about calculus when you didn't even understand algebra. And then, in her imprisonment, she was alone and she had nothing but her thoughts and she attempted to understand what had happened then. She puzzled over Crowley. That time when he possessed her changed everything. But she wasn't allowed to think things over when she saw a beam of light sweep through the room and then felt cold water splash over her from behind before she could turn around and see where it was coming from.

She felt the hard nose of a gun against her back and lifted her hands to try to hopefully avoid getting shot. Her heart was steady. She had been through worse. She had seen worse. She could get out of this.

"You've got three seconds to tell me what you are really doing here," Sheriff Mills said with all the authority of a law enforcement agent catching a criminal in the act.

Linda had to process what had just happened. Didn't the sheriff just splash her with  _ water  _ of all things? The gun was steady on her lean back. Her captivity had carved her into a woman that was all sinew and nerves. Linda kept her hands up, forced her brain to think. "That was holy water?"

"It was; so, at least you ain't a demon."

"I'm hunting a demon." It was obvious by now that the sheriff seemed to know a thing or two about hunters and about hunting demons.

"Take it you're going after the Crowley Killer? As if a serial killer ain't bad enough, we got ourselves a  _ serial killing demon."  _ Jody lowered the gun and Linda breathed a sigh of relief. "And do you know who Crowley is?"

"Look, I don't know who you think you are," Linda said as she turned around, "But this is something personal."

"What, did he ask you out on a date?" Jody asked with joking smile.

Linda narrowed her eyes. There was no room for humor. Not when the serial killing demon was killing people with her brother's last name.

"Hey, forget what I just said. How about this: Two heads are better than one," the sheriff said.

***

_ Outside of Fairview, Maryland _

Del entered the bar that night. He pushed past some of the patrons and made it to the counter. The bartender flashed some black eyes at him, recognizing him almost instantaneously. News of his exploits had been passed as whispers in Hell. The demon who double-crossed Crowley, the last one to see the former King of Hell alive, and the one who had been going cross-country on a murder spree that left them jealous.

In person, he did not look as threatening as the legend had made him out to be. He wore his thick-rimmed glasses, tight jeans, and soured expression the way any college dropout would. "So, you're Del," the woman said as she appraised him. He lacked muscle tone, was pale-skinned, baby-faced, and looked uncomfortable in his own skin. She'd think that a demon like himself would choose a more formidable appearance, but perhaps there was strategy in looking like a basement dweller who still lived with his mother.

What she didn't know was how ready Del was to move on, if only Crowley hadn't trapped him in this wimpy body. He was stuck like this. No smoking out. A handicap that made him feel vulnerable.

"Yep," he replied.

"They've been talking about you downstairs," she said.

"And?"

"Well, Abaddon is keeping her eye on you."

Del rolled his eyes. "Oh, isn't that wonderful," he said flatly. "I got noticed by the boss. I bet she'll wait until I'm right there about to make a name for myself before she swoops in and steals all the glory. As usual. You know, I never got to kill Barry." He still wasn't over that.

"Is that why you're doing the whole murder thing?"

Del laughed. "Psh, no. I'm doing  _ the whole murder thing  _ to ask this hot chick out." He had bedroom eyes and was looking right at her. He remembered this working in his past life, before he died and before he was a demon. He must have been handsome once upon a time.

The bartender scoffed.

"Forget I'm this pale, string-bean little fuck. It's what's inside that counts."

She pushed him a strong drink. "Consolation prize. Better luck next time, sweetheart."  _ Underwhelming.  _ That was the best way to describe him. She had no interest in a kid like him. To her, he didn't live up to the hype.

Del sighed and took the drink. He was hoping that Linda was looking for him now. Why waste time looking for her when he could just draw her out. It excited him, to be a predator again, using fear and suspense to catch his prey. He glanced at a reflection of himself in the bar mirror. Yeah, he was more than ready for an upgrade.

***

Parked outside of a grocery store, Lively turned to Sam. "So, let's see the silly thing."

He took it out of the inside of his jacket, but paused. "I do have a question."

"Well, shoot," she prompted.

"You said that a fairy authored the spell. And Kevin said that a god did. So, which is it?"

Lively smiled. "It's both. Sometimes, supernatural  _ things  _ color a little bit outside of the lines. Sometimes, they become gods if they strike a deal. It's a whole ritual, very well-known in Avalon. Many gods started as the fae, but there are a few that started as other things. And the Inuit goddess? Totally started as a fairy."

Sam processed what she just said. "So, why aren't you a goddess?"

Lively laughed openly. "Because you rely on followers for power. More followers; more power. Fewer followers; less power. I'd rather not have my powers rely on something as unreliable as faith. Plus, you get stuck on a responsibility. It's a job. But really, who wants me as a goddess?" She raised her eyebrows. She looked innocent and sweet-faced in the moment. Sam often had to remind himself that she was a monster. Underneath her glamour, she was a glaistig.

He pushed the spellbook over to Lively and she took it and opened to the bookmarked page. She hummed quietly as she read the spell. The words were layered and deep. The spell something rich and old and complex.

"I just thought of something," Sam said, thinking aloud. "Dean and I were hunting the goddess Vesta while you and Cas were hunting that Will-o'-the-Wisp. And well... blue fire. Could Vesta have started as a Will-'o-the-Wisp?"

"Probably," Lively said with a shrug as she reread another part of the spell. "From what you boys said about her, at least."

"So, what did the Inuit goddess start as?"

"No clue, hon."

"It's not the longest spell," Sam said impatiently.

"Lengthwise, no. But depth-wise, yes. With magic, you can write deep into pages. Like this is the surface." She put a hand on the page. "Imagine if you swam in a pool made of words. The most obvious passage is the one on top. Focus a bit, and you can dive in deeper, and you see the rest. Like having your eyes open under water. Basically, I'm reading deep into it. And it's a contract like I thought." She poked at the page. "About here, it explains the ramifications of trying to break the spell. Namely, that it will increase the number of hunts required to get the human back to normal."

Sam sighed and shook his head, feeling a little hopeless. It was going to take forever to get Dean back to normal. "So what? Give up?"

Lively raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. "Hon, we can go and ask her ourselves. Strike up a new deal or something."

He met the fae's eyes, trying to see if there was a catch or if she was trying to trick him. Not sensing anything, he finally allowed himself to trust her. "I guess it's worth a shot."

***

Crowley filled an empty glass with Scotch. The dark walls of his motel room gave it a classic feel. The rich mahogany of the furniture brought austerity to the place. The journal lay, spine flat to his left, opened on an early page. He studied it carefully and then dipped a pen in some ink and scratched the exact same thing onto a blank page in front of him. He had his doubts about whether or not he was supposed to be doing. Especially, when he saw a defect in the written words of the old journal, where the ink had flowed too freely and put a blot on the page.  _ And how the bloody Hell am I supposed to replicate that?  _ In that moment, lost in thought, he wasn't minding the pen and glanced down. "Oh, bugger." And, the blot on the page was perfectly where it was supposed to be.

He lifted his eyebrows, causing his forehead to be deeply creased. He nodded to himself. "And will you look at that?" He picked up his journal and looked at the careful stitches that held the pages together. He recalled his work as a tailor and had never, a long time ago, had imagined that he would have had to put a book together. He continued his task, carefully writing down everything he saw.

He heard a knock. He sighed and gestured towards the door, opening it without getting up. A woman stood outside, wearing glasses. Her hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail. She wore business attire. Her lips were pursed. And her expression was severe. She entered, her high-heels muffled in the plush carpet. "Crowley," she said softly. "I found her." She had a dossier in her hands.

Crowley lifted his head. "Well, you could always find anything for me, Cecily." And gestured towards the surface he was doing his work on.

"Why did you need her?" she asked as she set down the collected papers on the desk.

"I don't need her for my plans, just for insurance."

"Insurance about what?"

"While I was in the Bunker to get back my journal, the prophet let me see something that he should not have let me see. I recognized it for what it was. It's only a matter of time before those flannel-clad boys figure it out, too. Can't have Moose and Squirrel beating me to the punch and throwing down some wild card in the midst of a very delicate procedure." He glanced down at the journal.

"Well, that journal… you never told me why it was so important." Apparently, it was worth Crowley almost losing his throne in Hell and being imprisoned for months. And he never told her why. And once he got it back, he didn't do anything with it except for now he was apparently write a new one. If he was going to just write a new journal, what was the point of him getting the old one?

She didn't know why had gone along with Crowley for all of these years. He revealed nothing of his endgame, just that it was a big project and she had stuck around long enough to see the pieces come together time after time for him. She was an older demon than he was, not by much, but she remembered when he first came into hell. His soul burned away quickly. The fire that came from it was bright like a star, not like the oily stinking flame of other souls. She didn't say anything.

He motioned for her to see the two copies and how they were exactly the same. "I suppose you can say I'm sentimental," he commented in his dark voice.

Cecily raised her eyebrows.  _ Sentimental?  _ Did that mean the rumors were true about him being more human?

"Coat."

Cecily hurried and fetched the black coat. It was heavier in her arms than she had expected. She was hoping that doing him this favor would allow him to give her a glimpse of what he was doing this all for. She saw him in the middle of the room, standing regally, like a King ought to, glancing over the open journals before carefully shutting them. She went behind him, his coat open for him.

"Glad to see I can still be treated like the King I am. It fits me well." He slipped his arms in the sleeves smoothly and then shrugged the coat onto his shoulders. It was perfectly tailored to him and he could appreciate a good tailoring job, having been one himself years and years ago. He picked up the dossier that Cecily prepared for him and looked through it, finding the place name.

Her eyes fell to the twin journals, wondering if he'd ever give her the moment to riffle through it. Her gaze flickered back up to Crowley. "Are you going to go back to ruling Hell?"

"In time," he shared. "I do plan to kill her." He paused. "I'm out of blood Cecily. Be a dear and get me some more."

Crowley waited for her to leave the room, apparently on her new mission. But he knew that she was playing both sides. Demons weren't particularly known for their loyalty. And then, with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared.

***

Dean was getting antsy, waiting in the same spot, looking at a computer screen. It was his poor attempt at keeping his mind off of the fact that Sam wasn't here. Castiel knew how uncomfortable Dean was without his brother. The former angel was drawing another portrait while the eldest Winchester brother was looking at the screen, sheer willpower keeping him in his seat. He had something to prove, quashing his instincts the way he was doing now.

Cas wanted to comfort him and thought that the best way to do that was to keep his mind on the task at hand. "Did you find anything else about the angels?"

"No," Dean snapped.

Perhaps it wasn't as effective a strategy as Cas would have hoped.

Cas could feel the anxiety just rolling off of Dean.  He tried to block it out, but it was there--the desperation for Sam to return and the fear that he was going to be stuck like this.

Dean suddenly stiffened his posture in the seat, attentive. "Kevin is coming," he said. And that development seemed to pull him out of falling to pieces.

The young man entered the room with a memo pad in hand. Cas stopped drawing.

"Well, what have you got? Is little Miss Sunshine holding out on anything?" Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, I think she's more upset than we are that she can't give us anything."

"How do you mean?" Cas asked.

Kevin sighed before he gathered himself up to explain what he had just witnessed from watching Muriel. "Well, first she tried talking. I wrote down what she said. You know, in case there's some kind of a code involved." He tossed the pad down and Dean picked it up and started reciting some of the words.

_ "Something the air the earth the sea the earth abode of stones in the great deeps..."  _ he skipped a few lines, raising his eyebrows and continuing with a note of confusion in his voice,  _ "...heaven so blue still and calm so calm with a calm which even though intermittent is better than nothing…" _

"I think there might be something there, there are some words that seem all... uh, angel-y," Kevin said. "But I don't know. It just sounds like nonsense."

"What about getting her to write notes?"

Kevin pulled a crumpled paper from the back pocket of his jeans and pushed it onto the table. It was full of the loopy scribbles. "That's all she makes--even when she doesn't know she's being watched. And, dudes, I am pretty sure she can't read either. She picked up a few books, different languages--"

"I can read in all the languages," Cas chimed in.

Dean and Kevin paused to look at him and then, Kevin continued, "--anyways, she would  _ try  _ and she just couldn't."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Kevin replied, "I'm sure."

"Okay, then passing notes is out of the question," Dean stated.

"Obviously," Kevin agreed.

Castiel canted his head and stared at his drawing. He pushed the file of his completed portraits towards Kevin and Dean. "Perhaps these will suffice."

Dean opened the file folder and flipped through a couple of the portraits. Different faces, but the likeness was captured. He glanced at Cas, a beaming smile on his face. "I think this'll do it. We get a face; we get a lead."

***

Sheriff Mills watched Linda carefully as she moved through the Nguyen house, searching for clues. Linda knew that the sheriff was not leaving, but it seemed like she wasn't going to be in her way either. She had done this before--helped on a hunt. Which was obvious because she knew about holy water and demons.

Jody knew how hunters were. They were a suspicious bunch. Linda was cagey around her, always looking over her shoulder. And she knew that if they were going to build any sort of rapport, then she'd have to be the one who put forth the effort. "So I don't see many solo hunters going after demons."

"Like I said earlier: It's personal," Linda said, tersely. As far as she knew, law enforcement was clueless to what hunters had to do.

"Hey, I'm not saying it's not, but as far as I know, hunters don't go after demons alone unless they have a death wish."

_ "Hunters,"  _ Linda echoed. "You're talking like you aren't one."

"Maybe I should start calling myself one: I lost someone, something. Got to learn that Casper's not a friendly ghost. And got my ass kicked by a demon. Had a run-in with a  _ goddess  _ a few months ago. If something's over my head or outside my range--"

Linda looked suspiciously at Jody. "Your range? That's Sioux Falls, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what's a Sioux Falls sheriff doing out here?"

Jody grinned, "Well. This demon.  _ Crowley.  _ Let's just say it's personal." Linda noted the edge to the sheriff's voice.

Sheriff Mills held a hard expression as she remembered that night. Crowley made her feel special and she really thought she was going to finally find someone new to have a romance with. She thought she had healed enough to allow her heart to love again. But instead, she finished the evening coughing up blood in the bathroom and discovering that all of that charm was worth nothing because he just wanted the Winchesters. She had been  _ used  _ and then tossed aside when he was done with her.

"So, what do you have on the Crowley Killer so far?" Linda asked.

***

Sam and Lively had finished their errands. Sam had, in his hand, a pack of squeaky tennis balls that he purchased from the pet store after they picked up some supplies and beer. "What if this offends him?" He squeaked one of the balls inside of the netted sleeve. "What if letting him be, you know, a dog is the absolute last thing he needs?"

The fae pulled off of the road and put the car into park. She stared straight ahead and didn't answer Sam.

"Uh, Lively?"

"You have to tell him," she said quietly.

Sam felt his anger spike, but he cooled it down. He didn't see why he needed to inform Dean on every single thing he intended on doing. He planned to get his brother involved when it turned out that this lead was an actual lead. He felt the ball in his hand, already doubting the fact that he bought it to make Dean happy.

"Why is it so important to you whether or not I tell him?"

"Because Sam, I've been on Earth, walking here, among you humans for god knows how many years. I'm bound to honesty--"

"Well, I'm human. I think that if I have the right to choose to lie, then I should."

Lively sighed and then laughed to herself. She looked at the blue sky overhead. At the dark asphalt road. "You want to know something, Sam?"

Sam lifted his head, noting the serious tone that was in the car--Lively was using his name, after all.

"The fae can't lie. And I know one of the fae. A leprechaun, actually. He learned a way to lie. And you know what he did with that choice?"

"Lie?" Sam offered.

"Well, yes. He makes a few key lies, but most of the time, fairy habits die hard. And he's learned that telling the truth hurts more than a lie and has more power than any lie you can tell. But in a pinch, a lie works. The ability to lie can be useful. Oh, he's a master of lying because he has mastered the art of the truth: How to bend it, obscure it, play with it, and also when it should be bold and obvious and clear. And because he knows that power, he knows how to use it."

"What was his name?"

Lively laughed and shook her head. "He lost his name a long time ago. Gave it up in exchange for a deal."

"So what's the point of telling me this?" Sam said.

She sighed. "Ask yourself, hon. Is this one of those times where you need to lie?"

He paused and considered why he was so hesitant to share. He was frustrated with the situation, stuck in an uncomfortable car and in an uncomfortable conversation. "What if the reason why he doesn't want help is that he's  _ fine  _ being like he is. How he is. I'm  _ not  _ fine with it!"

Lively smiled and then said, "Then, tell him that."

"Yeah, like he's going to be  _ so  _ happy going through a chick-flick moment like that"

Satisfied, she started driving again. Sam was still stewing, so Lively said, "You know, I think he'll like the squeaky balls. Even if he won't admit it to you."

***

Muriel watched as Dean sauntered into the library. Behind him, Castiel held a portfolio. She was suspicious of the both of them as they sat at a table together, pulling out two adjacent chairs so they were close, elbow to elbow. Dean on the right; Cas on the left.

"So," Dean said. "I think you know something about what's going on with the angels." He gestured for Muriel to join them.

She narrowed her eyes and huffed, arms crossed. She didn't move. It didn't matter what she knew. She couldn't communicate with them! She attempted to speak, choosing a few of the words that she had learned that she could say. "No matter what matter the facts are there…" she sighed and then remarked, "Aphasia loves us dearly."

"I get it. You can't talk. Well you can, but you can't." Dean said. "And you can't read and you can't write."

Muriel slumped more and more at each  _ can't  _ that left his mouth. She glowered for only a moment as she was surprised when the Righteous Man himself averted his eyes and squirmed under her gaze.

He cleared his throat. "Anyways, we need something. And we need to see if you can do this. We want to fix heaven." He prompted the former-angel who sat beside him. "Cas?"

Castiel pulled out a picture of Lori Van der Specht, one of the victims.

Muriel focused on it, but didn't know who it was. She looked confused.  _ Why?  _ The question was clear in her face. Her eyebrows were drawn together, curious.

"Her name was Lori Van der Specht. She is dead now," Cas said bluntly.

Muriel's expression softened and she looked on the photograph with tenderness. She reached to touch it and looked at the woman's smile. She understood human emotions as much as any angel could. She knew the richness of them. She understood the tragedy of a life wasted.

"She was the vessel of the angel Turiel."

Muriel widened her eyes at that name. She knew which side an angel like Turiel would favor. And it was why she was hesitant to join Malachi's side. She sat in the chair at the table, across from the boys. She nodded her head once. _ I'll do it.  _ She communicated mutely.

Cas pulled out the faces of several people that he had drawn over the last couple of days. He set them up in front of Muriel, on top of the copy of the photograph they had of the victim. As Cas set them down, she noticed the silver-gray side of his hand from graphite, and the way he absently massaged the soreness from overworking his hand.

They were on the same side that she was, weren't they?

"Which one is Lori Van der Specht?" Dean asked.

Muriel looked at each drawing. Cas had captured their likeness in his rough sketches. Shaded almost messily, but detailed at important parts that highlighted the features that differentiated them from other humans. She found the drawing of Lori almost instantly, and was drawn to it. It was the girl's glittering, toothy smile. Cas had spent time on the detail of her trademark grin and that made the sketch Lori. The angel pointed at the picture.

Dean was shivering with excitement, his mouth loose and almost panting. He seemed to lose control of himself for a moment, but was brought back down by Cas's quiet touch. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly, hoping that she didn't notice. But she did.

"Do you recognize any of these faces?" Castiel asked.

Muriel furrowed her eyebrows and then shook her head. Castiel added a few more pictures, tossing them on top of the ones he had already set down. She studied the faces and then started pointing vigorously to one of them. A man with greasy, limp hair and intense, dark eyes that looked both sad and tired and aflame with the passion of a soldier who believed strongly in his cause.  _ Malachi. _

Cas picked up the drawing that Muriel had indicated. He passed it to Dean who studied it. It seemed that whatever had been the matter with him a few minutes ago had run its course because he seemed like himself again. "So, how high is this guy on the ladder?"

Muriel shut her eyes. "Aphasia loves us dearly!"

"Yeah, we get it! You can't tell us. But here: Look." Dean indicated a low level, his hand, palm down, parallel to the ground and hovering only a little above the table. "Grunt." He lifted it up a little more. "An angelic supervisor." He lifted it up to about shoulder height. "The captain of the squad." Muriel understood now how to communicate with them. Perhaps these guys did have a chance on doing something about fixing heaven.

She lifted her hand, mirroring his gesture, but raising it above her head.

"Wait, so this guy is the head honcho?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Cas, do you have any idea…" Dean started, but the sentence drifted away. Castiel was staring into a middle distance, a look of despair on his normally stoic face.

It was only a moment until Cas came back from his trance. 

"Uh, what was that? I mean, you're a space cadet, but that was..." Dean gestured with a light whistle, indicating that Castiel's brain just floated out of his head without warning.

"That was Nora..." he paused, worry making his voice sound even rougher than usual. "Praying for me."

**Author's Note:**

> Contains quotes from:  
>  _Supernatural_ (duh)  
>  "Sympathy for the Devil" by The Rolling Stones  
> Waiting for Godot by S. Beckett
> 
> Updates: On Mondays or Wednesdays, about every other week.
> 
> I also occasionally write short stories within this universe right here, [Awestruck Tales](http://archiveofourown.org/series/535672).
> 
> Here is a link to my art. I am not the greatest artist, but am not half-bad: [Ammy McKay @ dA](http://ammymckay.deviantart.com/). I'll slowly add arts and writing to my dA as I make it. Feel free to request a certain character or scene.


End file.
